


Meant To Be

by MeeMaw



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Babies, Deviates From Canon, F/M, Not A Fix-It, Not a revenge fic, Post S8E3, Slow Burn, Targaryen Restoration, my kind of happy ending, red doors trump red keeps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-01-31 00:44:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21437413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeeMaw/pseuds/MeeMaw
Summary: Jon and Daenerys eventually find their home with each other.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 364
Kudos: 328





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot fix it of sorts but I've iia to thank for correcting my mistakes & constantly reminding me to flesh it out and now I may have at least a few chapters to share with you. The story would not have been possible without her brilliant suggestions and inputs. We explored the book lore, instances where Jon discusses incest with the freefolk and so on. iia isn't my beta, she practically co-wrote this with me and I wonder why she's not my co-author?!!! 
> 
> About the story:  
\--------------
> 
> Jon and Dany have faced different types of challenges: while Dany's battles so far have mostly been good vs evil, Jon's have been against some of his own men, or men he has broken bread with. IMO, Jon understands that grey area better than Dany. Therefore, he can see that at some point, he will have to oppose his own people. Perhaps even stomp a rebellion. As of now, he is not ready for it and will do everything to avoid that situation. This, and Sansa's determination to interfere, is where the story starts. The story is canon divergent from Season 8 Episode 3, nothing after that is remotely the same as the show, so do not assume anything from the last three episodes of the show. 
> 
> iia and I were trying to explore why Jon had so much trouble accepting his relationship with Dany & we agreed it could not be "incest" or that sHe's My aUnT. It had more to do with the manner in which Jon was raised i.e. his natural-born status and his regard for his adoptive father Ned.
> 
> While it's relatively easier for Dany to say that she will marry whoever she likes, It is not the same with Jon.
> 
> Jon hasn't grown up with a legitimate name or claim to anything. People don't change overnight. Nor will Jon. He can be very focused but he cannot be ruthless-cunning like Bloodraven(before you bring pitchforks out, pl be warned that we're talking about show Jon here). Jon has never once done anything selfish either in books or the show. That should say something about the kind of person he is. Plus, his personal ambitions have been subdued from the very beginning to the extent that he hasn't ever demonstrated that he thinks he might have a role to play beyond the Great War. That's just my read. Am aware that many of you will disagree.
> 
> Having said that, Jon isn't stupid by any means. D&D are! With an existential threat at his doorstep, and fatigued by war, he must've overlooked certain aspects of this conflict but he will get there in time because he no longer has to worry about icy eyed fuckers coming to kill them all.
> 
> Also, I do believe that Sansa did play the long con. She had realized way back in e1 that Jon and Dany are in love. If she is able to separate them, she will have what she always wanted - absolute power.
> 
> Besides, Jon's children will always be a threat to her own. Jon has been the King in the North, his progeny will always have a legitimate claim to Winterfell. Especially if Jon's children decide to pursue their claim for whatever reasons, no one can question the legality of it. It doesn't benefit Sansa in any way if Jon married ANYONE else either. So, him pining for Dany but keeping them apart is her best bet against him begetting any heirs. It makes sense for Cerseifinger's character.
> 
> And yeah, Dany doesn't go mad queen and her friend Missandei lives. Even if she didn't (sorry Missi), within the same series, Dany has suffered the loss of her unborn child, brother, husband, gave away the Bay of Dragons back to its people, wasn't really worshipped by all of her people (slavers and anyone who benefitted from slavery hated her enough to make an attempt on her life) but none of it made her go mad.

**Prologue**

“Where’s Arya? Shouldn’t she be here?” Jon leans to his right and whispers close to Sansa’s ear, “Her absence during the feast honoring the fallen and celebrating victory is an affront to the very memory of all those who have lost their lives in defending our home. And I don’t see any of Dany’s Bloodriders and Unsullied too, did you not invite them?”

“I don’t speak for our sister,” Sansa takes a draught of the wine and with an exaggerated sigh, lowers the cup on the table with practiced grace. Smiling mirthlessly she turns her body towards Jon’s chair, “and do you now mean to educate me on how to organize a feast in my childhood home and then mayhaps on how to run a household too? There wasn’t any place for that many horselords. I sent them a message to send their commanders but they responded saying they were all her .. I cannot remember, they said something about _ blood _ . It’s all about _ fire and blood _ for the Targaryens.” she snorts condescendingly, ignoring a twitch of Jon’s brow. “I thought better to send them ale and food outside. As for the Unsullied, I sent an invite to the translator and her lover, you have to ask your queen why they’re not here. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to thank the Northern lords for their loyalty and support and perhaps you could do the same. I may be a trueborn Stark but I’m still a daughter. You, on the other hand, are Ned Stark’s son. You may not have his name but you have his blood. You were the chosen King of the North, _ our home _. You bent the knee under duress, the Northerners understand that and will stand behind you if you stepped up. Show everyone that now is the time for wolves!” She stresses with cold determination.

“The _ translator’s name _ is Missandei and _ her lover, _ the commander of all the Unsullied, is called Grey Worm.” Jon pipes in annoyance, “And I am no king, you would do well to remember it was I who bent the knee and swore himself to Daenerys. It’s treason to speak...” Sansa grinds her teeth and is walking away from him even before he has finished his thought. Jon clenches his fist at his sister’s continued defiance and looks around only to find there’s not a soul within an earshot.

Jon stares uneasily as Sansa saunters towards the high lords’ table and stretches her hand towards Lord Royce who leans low to kiss the dancing direwolf and fish on the ring she wears. _ She never fails to remind the old Lord who she is - Ned Stark’s daughter and the cousin of his liege, Lord Robin Arryn. _

Despite not wanting anything more than ale and the comfort of Dany’s arms, Jon finds himself surrounded by lords and ladies, praising his bravery and courage, reminding him time and again how he has proven himself a true son of the North. “Lord Stark would have been proud of what you have achieved, Your Grace! And you will do great honor to the north if you choose one of our daughters to continue the Stark line! Before your grandsire married his cousin, Lady Lyarra, Lady Marna Locke was the last Northern woman who married into the Stark line. Allow me to introduce my family…”

Jon reckons it’s more propitious for them to push their daughters onto a bastard King than a bastard Warden. After the exchange of pleasantries with the Lord's family, Jon turns to remind him, “I am no king, my lord. And the Stark line will continue through Ned Stark’s trueborn children.” It doesn’t matter how oft he reminds him or the other lords, many of them advisedly continue addressing him as such and some insist that despite his titles, he is their chosen one, a true Northman and a _ true _ Stark.

“Lord Brandon is … different now,” Lord Rodrik Ryswell proceeds cautiously, “**you** are the last hope for House Stark.” The high lord intones purposefully and Jon can’t help but notice his subtle choice of words.

“That is not true my lord. Thank the gods, Lord Stark’s trueborn daughters are alive and they will carry forward his legacy.”

“Of course, Your Gr… err, my lord. Lord Stark was indeed blessed to have fathered sons and daughters such as yourself and your sisters. This unfortunate man has witnessed a time when the North was trampled under the savagery of the Boltons. No offense to you, my lord, that Bolton savage had a bastard’s black blood, no true son would have killed his own family for the lust of power. But you, on the other hand, with your chivalry and honor have proven you’re every bit Ned Stark’s son as His Grace Robb, and lords Brandon and Rickon.” 

It smarts to be compared to Ramsay Bolton and its smarts to think what these lords may say about him if he left the North and his childhood home to make one with Dany after inadvertently passing the northern crown to her, _ his family by birth_.

“None taken, my lord” Jon echoes mirthlessly. “You honor me with your trust. When I lived here as a child,” Jon looks around the Great Hall, haunted by old memories, “I only ever wanted to make Lord Stark proud. Lord Stark once said that we find our true friends on the battlefield and it is time, I believe, that we identify who our true friends are. For surely you understand that Queen Daenerys kept her word and now we are honor-bound to keep ours and back her claim against Cersei. Besides, the North needs to feed its own people and build shelters over their heads. And this can only be attained through forging strong alliances with the other kingdoms.”

“The undead would have posed a problem for all humanity if they had not been defeated in the North. And besides, the Queen herself has accepted that it was a Stark who defeated the Long Night in the end. Forgive my forwardness, my lord, but what good has ever come from an alliance with the South or the Targaryens? _ The North Remembers _ what happens when our people go South. Your sister mourns her mother, father, brother, grandfather and uncle, and fears for your safety.” The lord has the decency to look ashamed at insinuating for him to betray Daenerys and go back on his promise, “I know you have given your word to the Queen and the entirety of the North is willing to die at your command, but, should you choose otherwise, the North will endure, my lord, like it has for thousands of years. We will eat snow if we have to but we vow to stand behind Ned Stark’s heirs.”

_ And who would you say are these Stark heirs you swear your allegiance to? _Jon cannot help but question where the sweet-talking lord’s loyalties truly lie. “I assure you, as I have assured my sister, she has no cause to worry for her future or that of the North. Queen Daenerys is not our enemy. She has spent moons here and has given us no cause for mistrust, I traveled to Dragonstone and not only returned unharmed, but I also returned with the largest army that has ever assembled in the North, in defense of the North no less; all thanks to the queen’s generosity and selflessness.”

“Of course, my lord. The Gods have been merciful. But King Robert was your lord father’s friend and Lord Rickard was a leal bannerman to the last Targaryen king. Their fortunes didn’t smile upon them for too long. As for the Queen, she is a Targaryen. Her brother was said to be different from his father, known for his generosity and honor. But we remember what he did to Lady Lyanna’s virtue, we went to war against the Targaryens for her. I say all this as your well-wisher, my lord and I hope you will forgive me if I have overstepped my bounds.” Upon seeing Lord Tallhart and his only daughter seeking Jon’s attention, the lord bows respectfully and decides to take his leave.

The conversation with the affable Lord Tallhart is mundane and all he seems interested in is making acquaintance between Jon and the lord’s young daughter, but Jon’s thoughts are filled with bitterness as his mind still lingers on Ryswell’s rancid words. He feels his chest tighten and seeks to escape that morbid place.

Needing a breath of fresh air to rid himself of the foul thoughts, Jon determinedly walks towards the exit but flinches and stops upon observing Lord Glover approach him. The man has never been the one to hold back his displeasure. _ Who has anyway? _ The conversation is more or less the same; Glover reminds Jon how Robb, a king of their choosing, lost the North because he fell for a foreign girl. He reminds Jon that a bastard, another Snow, defiled the North and the North had valiantly risen as one and backed the Starks when the time came. Jon wants to correct so many events from these stories, the foremost being Glover’s refusal to aid them in the war for Winterfell. But the lords are too drunk and too focused on what they have to convey, most of his protestations are falling on deaf ears. 

And then, in a distance, is Sansa, cold and scornful, brewing this entire storm in the name of independence. 

The feast turns out to be a charade. It resembles a tedious chore Jon would have avoided at all costs. Chiding his childhood self for wanting to be seated among the true-born children of his uncle, he finally manages to prowl past the guards to be able to breathe in the fresh air. He thinks of all those lords’ words about his sire, Prince Rhaegar and how his name elicits anger amongst the Northerners even to this day. Jon wonders how anyone can convince them that the entire rebellion was a misunderstanding. Rhaegar had loved his lady mother but thousands of unwitting souls paid the price for their love in blood. Jon then thinks about Robb, his _ cousin _ who chose love over duty and the entire north paid the price of it. With a heavy heart, Jon ponders over Rhaegar’s and Robb’s follies and their downfall.

But say what they may, Jon cannot forget how Robb, the Young Wolf, the first King of Winter since Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon Targaryen, was brought down by his own people and when he looks back, towards the pale light seeping through the corridors, he sees another conspiracy in making. 

Jon doubts whether he can truly trust Sansa. He wonders who else can be the next Warden of the North should he decide to make a home with Dany. While Sansa’s appetite for power is all-consuming and dangerous, no other House would be able to keep the North united.

As Jon frustratingly rakes his nails through his tangled hair, Aemon’s solemn words echo in the frigid air and Jon can’t help but think of those wise eyes of the kind maester that were cloudy to look at but could see beyond what was before them.

_ Love is the death of duty. _

*~*~*

“Didn’t think I’d find you here.”

“Where did you think I would be?” Jon eyes his furry companion who helped her find him.

“I don’t know, there are plenty of willing women in the castle tonight. Serving girls to highborn northern ladies, I suppose most of them would want to bed their handsome king?” she teases him.

“_ Former _ king, Your Grace!” Jon smiles, doing his best to dissuade Dany from continuing the matter. “And there’s only one girl for me; a southerner no less!”

“Now that the North is under no threat, does that vex you that you gave up your title?” she asks dusting the fallen snow with her gloved hands and lowering herself close to him.

“It doesn’t. Ruling does not bring me joy, kingship was a great burden that I carried because it was the right thing to do then, it’s what the circumstances demanded. The North is not safe until everyone has food in their bellies and a roof over their heads, and that can’t happen in isolation. Robb took so many of our men south with him that only the women and young boys were left to bring the harvest in. Crops withered in the fields or were pounded into the mud by autumn rains. And then the winter came.” Jon wears a forlorn look as if he were witnessing the war that raged beyond the very same battlements not too long ago. He turns his gaze to Dany. “We need gold and grains; it is going to be a long, arduous journey. But with help, we will get there and it won't matter that we are not an independent kingdom because I am certain that we will be a part of something greater, with you as our queen.”

“What if you are wrong? What if I fail you and everyone?”

“You can never fail me, Daenerys. You stood shoulder to shoulder with me and shared my burden and I can never forget that. I’ll tell you what Davos once said to me. “What does it matter, you fight for as long as you can, clean-up as much shit as you can and if you fail, pick yourself up and go fail again. At least you would have tried_ . _” Jon takes her hand in his, squeezing it tightly, brings it in his lap.

Dany’s heart feels full and heavy and she looks around, jestingly worrying if someone would see them and Jon may retreat into a shell. “What would people say if they saw us like this?”

_ I love you and I want them to know it. _ He thinks but resists speaking those words.

“These battlements are far too high for anyone to notice and no one would leave the warm halls to wander off in the snow.”

“No one but us.” She sighs and leans into him.

“I had the chance to speak with some of the Northern lords. They seem to finally recognize me as Ned Stark’s son.” He says ironically.

“You have always wanted thusly; you must be pleased.”

“I suppose it should make me happy. But it doesn’t. Why is it so, Daenerys?” he stares like a lost child, seeking comfort in her soothing pools of lilac.

“What ails you, my love?” she asks wondrously.

“A great many things.” There is so much that troubles him, so many questions he does not have answers to. How does he tell the woman who saved his land and its people that they still don’t trust her and she is still considered an outsider? That her name, _ his name _, is still uttered with hate and condescension. How does he tell her that in the eyes of the Northerners, his word as a Stark bastard is more trusted than if he were a trueborn Targaryen and that all of his decisions and intent will be shrouded in suspicion - if his true identity becomes public knowledge? That the North will betray her at Sansa’s behest, and she will be staring at another rebellion even before her reign has begun. 

“How long before people begin to wonder why I was able to ride Rhaegal? Before they find out that I’m not Ned Stark’s son?”

“Then you tell them before they find out, we join our claims. It’s the pragmatic thing to do!”

“And then what? Will anyone believe that it was happenstance we fell in love?”

“It’s the truth, Jon! We fell in love before knowing who your sires were.” Dany recoils, her thoughts darkening at the repercussions of what Jon is suggesting.

“Dany,” he begs her understanding, “It is our truth and sadly, only ours. For those who do not wish to believe, it’s rather easy to call us dishonest.”

“Speak plainly, Jon!” she sounds agitated and yet, broken.

“Robb once chose love over duty and that became the cause for betrayal by his own men. It not only got him and his wife and unborn child murdered in cold blood, his family got scattered and his kingdom fell into the hands of the vilest overlords the North had seen. I still remember the hatred in Lord Glover’s eyes when we begged him for help, how Lady Mormont almost threw us out of Bear Islands had it not been for Davos.”

“Ned Stark brought a bastard into his home and sheltered him. I owe it to his family and for the North to be there for them and not seem that I abandoned them for …”

“For a queen who seduced you?”

“Don’t say that; you demean me when you say hurtful things about yourself.” He prays. “For his _ other _ family.”

_ Ned Stark brought a king home and raised him as his bastard. Scorned and vilified, exiled to the Wall. _ She wants to remind him, but she understands that Jon holds the deceased lord in high esteem and that Jon’s morals, that _ frustrating _ part of him which made her fall in love with him, come from the very same man.

“If I married you, they’ll think of the king who lost the north, they will conspire as they did against Robb and I can’t imagine innocent people thrown into another war, a game that the high lords will play with their lives. Besides, I cannot even fathom the tales they will tell about bastards and their accursed black blood, condemning them all as treacherous!” He also wants to explain it to her, how he cannot choose freely as Robb could. Not that it served Robb or the North favorably but also because he was not raised to impose his will over others; he has had to explain himself more than anyone else. All his life, everyone’s first instincts have been to mistrust him because of the bastard name he carries. Jon doesn’t think Dany will understand what it means for a bastard, to have lived being subservient to everyone who carried the trueborn name.

“You don’t have to see yourself as one or the other when you can be both, a Targaryen as well as a Stark. Look at your cousins, they’re Starks and they’re Tullys, they did not have to prove themselves. Why should you then? Besides, you’re no bastard, Jon!”

“Dany, I have lived with the stain of bastardy all my life. It is my identity and no three-eyed ravens and septons' diaries can change that. I have been called the Bastard of Winterfell, the Black Bastard of the Wall and now perhaps they’ll call me the Bastard King who sold the North if they’re feeling generous.” He cannot bring himself to say that in the eyes of the Northern lords, his every virtue is a gift of his wolf-blood and anything he does against their petty interests will be seen as the deliberate treachery of the Dragon’s blood in him.

Dany winds her wrist tightly around the sleeve of Jon’s leather jerkin. “We can face them all - those who will call you treacherous and those who will try to tear us apart. We’ll triumph over each one of them. We will speak with the last one of the Northern lords, show them it is in the North’s interest to remain united with the other kingdoms. Together! We’re stronger together, don’t you see?”

“Dany, I tried. I tried to tell them that the North needn’t have to worry under your rule. But I’m not foolish to not be able to see that their loyalties will change the moment I leave.” he hesitates, “I cannot fight my family, not to the bitter end at least and the North will forever be divided in backing your claim if we removed Ned Stark’s trueborn children from wardenship in favor of another House. That would be a mistake we have to avoid at all costs.”

_ Oh. It always comes down to the Starks. _ “I see. Sansa would stir a revolt in the North in your absence and you shall not take up arms against your family.” She states rigidly. 

“Dany, please… you know I love you and it breaks my heart to say this - I just don’t see how we can be together without the possibility of causing a rebellion in the largest kingdom whose people can be stubborn enough to die rather than defy their liege.” Jon admits in a sorrow-laden voice. 

“Why does Sansa have to be their liege in your absence? Either Lord Brandon or Lady Arya could be the next Warden. They are Starks too and more so from what I have witnessed.”

Jon scoffs inwardly, “Bran can never be the Warden of the North or even the Lord of Winterfell. In his own words, he cannot be the lord of anything. Besides, have you not noticed, he does not speak with anyone more than he thinks is necessary, doesn’t attend council meetings, probably doesn’t even care to eat anymore” Jon shakes his head, “and thus, fails to understand what thirst and hunger are, what it means to have a family and what it does to a man’s soul to see them starve or suffer in the cold, or to understand what a lifetime of indignity does to people. He lives in the past or perhaps in the future; in any case, he lives out his days like a raven flying through the annals of time. That is not the kind of person who must be allowed to control people’s fates.” 

“As for Arya, she does not see herself living in the North for much longer. I went to remind her that her absence from the feast hadn’t gone unnoticed. To tell you the truth, Arya is the only one whose word I can trust around here. She can easily ensure the North’s loyalty once she realizes the disservice the North would inflict upon itself by asking for independence. But she doesn’t wish to remain in the North. She’s a lone wolf now, calls herself _ No One _.”

“Where does she wish to go then?” asks Dany.

“Explore what’s west of Westeros.” Jon sighs wearily.

“She could ask Bran, he sees everything. Isn’t it?” Dany chortles, wiping her miserable tears with the back of her hand at the same time and Jon joins her in that.

“In my absence, Winterfell will belong to Sansa and so will the North. I pledged my sword to you, it is yours; until my last breath. So is my heart. I’ll follow you in the war for the Iron Throne and once you’ve won your crown, I’ll be your sentinel in the North.”

“Your sister bends you to her will through coercion and you coddle her instead of punishing her treason. This is unfair to me and me alone. Why do I have to be the one to pay for other people’s vanity and foolishness? What more can I do for your people to see that I’m not the monster they think I am, that I’m not my father?” She rages in sorrow, her vision fading, drowning in waves of agony as her tears freeze on her cheeks. 

Jon watches her solemnly as snowflakes collect in her intricate braids, giving her a frosty crown. “Please..” he begs, unable to hold back his tears and pulls her between his arms as his tears mingle with the frozen flakes of snow. 

When there is nothing left for them to say, Dany takes his hand and their feet take them to Jon’s chambers. Jon slowly pushes the door open and stands at the precipice. “Dany” he beckons and she solemnly enters his room. She stares at the cold hearth and a shiver runs down her spine. Jon closes the door and unceremoniously tosses his clothes lying around his bed onto a nearby chair.

Dany shakes off the snow from her hair and looks at the piles of scrolls and parchments lying all around. “Do you not have servants for this?”

“I do. I gave them my leave to attend the festivities at Winter Town.”

Jon goes down on his knees to arrange the logs in the hearth and Dany curls her fingers over his shoulder, “…leave it be..”

“No, I want to..” he leans his head over her soft fingers and presses his lips against her knuckles. His throat chokes in dismay before he can tell her he wants her to be warm even if it is for one last time, he wishes for her to remember that he loves her and she is the only one for him. But words refuse to come out and even if they do, why would she believe him; why would anyone believe him?

Nothing makes any sense anymore. There are tears; quiet tears and mournful hisses as he fights her and she fights him. _ For nothing. _ They battle as he breathes in the hollow of her throat and she etches his shoulder with teeth marks. Long after it’s over, they hold onto each other in their shared grief.

“What is the worth of a bastard’s love?” he asks her when she is nestled against his chest. Jon muses if it’s worth giving up a crown, a lifelong dream. _ Surely, it isn’t. _

_ Everything. _ She intends to say but she does not know if it will mean anything to him or if her words will be enough for him to see her tattered heart. “I’ll make it easier for you. You don’t have to say it, I refuse to be chosen by you.” She pulls away from his nearness and warmth, leaving him alone in the dank coldness of his home.

*~*~*

What is left between them is awkwardness. While it was Jon who avoided her before that night, Dany makes sure his efforts weren’t for nothing and despite the fact they’re forced into each other’s presence during council meetings very often, she does her best to keep the distance that she needs. Dany has no control over who she was born to and life does not wait for regrets, best to get on without each other.

Half a moon’s turn is how long they have avoided finding each other alone since that fateful conversation. For Dany, it’s too much hurt to be in his presence after she has lost him and _ Jon _, Jon wants to grab every opportunity to see her fearing it could be the last time he does.

“Were you comfortable here? I’m sorry I never really asked about your accommodations,” Jon laments upon entering Daenerys’ solar at Winterfell. “I hope they weren’t too paltry for our queen.”

The furnishings in the guest chambers had been functional, sturdy and comfortable enough for Daenerys to find a decent night’s sleep if she had sought one. “Yes, of course.” She assures him.

“Yours?” she asks then, standing close to him and then turning away just the moment Jon catches sight of her glassy irises.

“They were much better than what I’ve been used to. But now that you’re leaving, I think I’d be moving my belongings here, the main tower does not have enough room to house us all.”

“Ah, yes, the problems of having a large family.” _ Not that she can even remotely fathom them because having a family has been nothing more than a foolish dream. _ She steps away from him, to the far end of the table, pouring wine in a silver goblet and offering it to Jon.

“Thank you,” he raises the goblet and then wonders, “you won’t partake?”

“I wish, but I need to keep my wits about myself today and make sure I don’t leave behind anything important.”

“I could bring it to you. If you left something.”

“I’m sure the Warden of the North will have his hands too full to run errands for a forgetful queen.” Dany tries to suppress her emotions under feigned laughter and Jon finds something amiss.

“So, I shall see you at King’s Landing the next time, I suppose.” She says, and it sounds both a question and a small hope. Jon wishes that despite everything, she may still like to see him sometime.

“If you remember to send me an invite.” Jon groans and then hesitantly adds, “Although, I still believe the northern soldiers should be marching with you when you take the Iron Throne.”

“We have truth on our side, we fought for the realm while Cersei sat in her keep, broke her oath and would have drowned the seven kingdoms into darkness because she was too selfish. She isn’t fit to rule a holdfast, let alone an entire continent." There's an innate conviction in her words that makes Jon believe that she will achieve anything that she has set her heart on. "We have Drogon and my advisors believe that we still have the numbers.” She then frowns sadly, “Besides, Lady Stark is right, you and your men are weary.”

“You must be as weary as I am, perhaps more. Isn’t it? And I promised you that I will ride south with you, what of my word?”

She flinches at his words. _ His honor._ Would that he cared for her heart as much he cares for his word. Gently placing her hand over his she reminds him, “You would be honoring your word by restoring the northern castles that have suffered damage during the Long Night, reassuring people that it is safe to return to their homes, making sure the supplies arrive on time.” she mutters sadly, “And besides, I cannot sit here while Cersei strengthens her position and we exhaust our reserves. We'll need the Reach and the Dornish resources sooner rather than later.”

When Jon nods unwillingly and unconvinced. Dany brings her hand over his heart. “Take care of yourself, Jon. You’re a good man, a dutiful and selfless man, don’t let anyone destroy that. People will always see what they want to see and act in their interests. Don’t let them hurt you any more than they already have.”

Jon only shakes his head and dries his eyes with the palm of his burnt hand. His other hand looms over hers, raising it to his lips, he whispers, “Dany, I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” Words spill with more trite than she has wanted. Dany soon composes herself, neatly folding her hands in front of her skirts she frowns, “I’ll miss our time together.”

Jon’s tongue swipes over his lip and his heart wavers as Dany breathes shakily, eyes moist _ with grief and anger, _ he reckons. His hands reach across, coming to rest upon her hips as if it were the only natural place they belonged at that moment. _ Gods above help me, _ he swallows the pain rising in his chest and kisses her trembling lips, savoring the taste of her mouth and their mingled tears, the strength of her fingers coiling tightly around his wrist. Jon pulls her in his embrace, swaying her on her toes and they stay that way a little bit longer than decorum between a queen and her warden permits.

“This.. we mustn’t..” she tries to tether her own heart by saying those words to him. It does not matter what she believes or what her heart desires. They weren’t ever meant to be and that is the truth of it.

“Do you think I am making a mistake?” she asks him innocently when he heeds her wishes and lets her get away from his embrace.

Gathering Dany’s soft tresses behind her ear, Jon softly reminds her, “No, you’re not. This is something you _ have to _ do. If not for yourself, for your people - the ones who followed you across the narrow sea and the ones who live under the shadow of Cersei and Euron’s tyranny. And for what it’s worth, for me. I would like to see this world of your dreams, where everyone is equal and justice is served without bias. And it won’t be built if you give up. No one is ever truly safe as long as power resides in the hands of the corrupt and selfish.”

_ Why does it all seem so worthless to me then? _Daenerys muses. 

“Daenerys, if you ever need me, I’m only a raven away. Hmm?”

“hmm..” she nods.

This is their farewell and even though neither says it, they both know it.

*~*~*


	2. Highlord's Bastard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extremely sorry for the long wait. The timelines had me in knots and there were certain aspects of the story that I wished the readers to learn through Dany's POV. Hence, I had to eventually split the chapter.
> 
> The entire credit for this chapter goes to iia. I could've done nothing without her inputs and suggestions and her personal touch to this story. Having said that, all mistakes are mine and you can attribute all the plotholes to my stubbornness and the fact that I write as a hobby and have no background of literature in ANY language. I just like to read. :)
> 
>   
Jon & Samwell (book dynamic based upon my understanding):  

> 
> The show made much ado about the supposed continued friendly feelings of Sam towards Jon. Sam even told Jon he will call his baby after him. Leaving aside how a Maester is allowed to have an (almost) wife and two kids, how come, Sam, who was the one who told Jon how much better a King he would be than Daenerys, never raised the issue of Jon's claim in that farce of a council? He was one of those who knew Jon had the claim, he actively pushed Jon against Daenerys, and yet, in the end, he just let him go to rot at the Wall.
> 
> But in the books all those friendly feelings that Sam was having towards Jon sour quite dramatically when Jon "stops" protecting/babysitting Sam and orders him to go to the Citadel.
> 
> In the books, Sam does not wish to go to the Citadel. He quite likes reading but he never expresses any wish to become a Maester. In fact, he thinks he will be disappointing his father even more if he went to the Citadel. Sam almost has a breakdown when Jon explains what he wants from Sam. But the ever-pragmatic Jon, in his quest for knowledge and to protect Aemon as well as Mance’s infant son, orders Sam in his capacity as the Lord Commander.
> 
> _  
"Jon, he’d said, but Jon was gone. It was Lord Snow who faced him now, grey eyes as hard as ice."  
_
> 
>   
Jon fears that the son of King Beyond the Wall would be burned by the Red Priestess Melisandre for his supposed "King's blood". He, therefore, forces Gilly to leave her son behind and instead take with her, the son of Mance and Dalla, promising that he will keep him safe and take care of her baby.
> 
> Sam is unaware of the baby swap until he finds Gilly crying inconsolably when they were at sea. It is Aemon who points out to him, that those were tears of grief. Surprisingly, Samwell hadn’t even noticed until the blind maester explained it to him, weeks later. So much for Sam loving Gilly’s baby. :/
> 
> Sam’s thoughts at this point are terrifying to me as a reader. I can’t insert the entire chapter because of copyright issues. But I believe I can share Sam’s final thoughts on Jon’s act of swapping “a bastard born of abomination” with “the son of King-beyond-the-Wall”. 
> 
> _  
“I helped to make Jon Lord Commander, and I brought him Gilly & the babe. There are no happy endings.”  
_
> 
> While Sam is ruminating over Jon's decisions, Sam’s traveling companion, a singer named Daeron comes up to him and comments that the worst of storms were over and the night was sweet. To which Sam eerily responds: 
> 
> _  
“The worst isn’t done. The worst is just beginning and there are no happy endings.”  
_  
_  
“Gods be good,” said Daeron, “Slayer, you are such a craven.”  
_
> 
> It is not the first time Sam is called craven. Almost everyone who meets him calls him craven. It’s an insult that sticks with Sam above everything else. Sam himself admits it to be true. And what do cravens do? IMO, they won’t fight you; they will stab you in the back under the pretense of “I had to do it for the good of others.”

**Samwell**

“Lord Samwell Tarly, I wanted to thank you. It was your information about the dragonglass that helped in saving us, saving the North. “

“You are very gracious, my lady. I only did what I could, I knew we needed means to defeat the enemy. “

“You’ve known Jon for many years now, have you not?”

“Umm, yes, of course, my lady. I’ve known him for a time. Jon… he protected me from Ser Alliser Thorne and those who would blindly follow him in his hatred for Jon and me. In exchange, I made him the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch”

“You **made** him the Lord Commander?”

“Err... Jon would say that, or rather hold me responsible for it. You see, he never considered the idea. But I understood the Watch needed him. And besides, both he and I’d be dead if Janos had become the Lord Commander.”

“Janos Slynt?”

“You knew him?”

“I did. In a different life, when I was a little bird that sang and danced to other’s tunes.” Sansa uneasily observes Jon and Daenerys riding away from Winterfell, to tend to the injured green dragon. _ What an irony; the North is safeguarding a dragon named for a dead Targaryen who molested the Winter Rose, _ she frowns_. _Even though Jon has committed himself to the North, Sansa doesn’t believe him. Something is unsettling about these two - like nothing can ever separate them; that all of this is tentative, a façade that can perhaps fool everyone else but not her. Not Sansa. She has to get to the bottom of it if she ever wanted to usher in an era for the wolves of Winterfell.

“I’m no longer a pawn in people’s games and I hope to remain so for as long as I live. I care for the North, for its people, for all those who are like a family to me. Tell me, my lord, why do you think Jon bent the knee to her?” Sansa asks observantly. “To be sure, she’s pretty, perhaps the most beautiful woman some would say. Not that I see it.” Sansa scoffs. “She had armies and dragons, and at some point, Jon may have witnessed the benefits of having her on his side. But he doesn’t appear to regret his decision. He gave away the North and its hard-earned freedom without consulting the Northerners or even me, the Stark of Winterfell whom he entrusted the North in his absence. He relinquished his power to a Targaryen no less. She’s the daughter of the Mad King, the man who murdered my grandfather and uncle, she’s the sister of a rapist. Does he not see the queer men - eunuch slaves and horselords she surrounds herself with? I hear she crucified the nobles of Meereen and burnt high lords in Westeros; your own lord father and valiant brother included. What madness would seize Jon for him to surrender to such a woman?”

It is in those moments, Samwell Taryl’s entire life plays before him. He thinks of the time when a fearful, pregnant girl begged Jon’s help to escape Craster’s clutches, but Jon refused because his honor forbade him from acting against the vile man. He thinks of the time he made Jon the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and in turn, Jon ignored his pleas and banished him to the Citadel to train as a Maester. _Oh, what shame it brought his lord father to see his son striving to forge chains rather than pick a sword and defend the Wall._ As if that were not enough, Jon separated Gilly from her infant son to save the son of the King Beyond the Wall and the old maester, Aemon, _another_ _Targaryen_.

Sam’s disposition sours.

The memories of Gilly’s gut-wrenching cries when they were aboard the ship to Oldtown wake him up from sleep to this day. Samwell often dreams of his shrewd father and fierce brother, both of whom were burnt by Daenerys Targaryen for failing to swear fealty to her. Sam’s own life, Gilly, her babe, none of those lives had mattered to Jon. Just as his father’s and brother’s lives did not matter to Daenerys Targaryen.

_ Dragons. _ Samwell thinks with disgust.

_ Jon should have spared a thought for Gilly, a mere girl who survived Craster’s Keep, the death of the Old Bear, snow and ice, freezing winds, and the Black Gate beneath the Wall only to become a pawn in Jon’s games he was playing as the Lord Commander. And Daenerys, she should have taken his lord father and brother prisoners and then, mayhaps they both would have seen him worthy of the Tarly name when he fought by their side to defeat the Others. But Daenerys’ dragon took away that last hope from him. _

_Dragons._ Samwell muses bitterly. _Formidable, ruthless_ _Dragons_. _Makes no matter if the dragon is made of Ice or Fire, to these dragons no other life is more sacred than their own, no cause more just than their own. There are no happy endings for anyone else. _Sam thinks with anger flashing through his eyes. The world doesn’t need the dreaded dragons lording over them. It needs compassion. Where dragons rule with ruthlessness, the songs of pretty birds heal with their melody.

“Did Jon not tell you?” Sam asks innocently.

“Tell me what?” Upon finding him hesitant to share the secret Sansa asks him, "Do you believe in gods, my lord?"

"The old gods, my lady. The Seven had forsaken me, the old gods are the ones I swore my Night's Watch oath to."

"My mother followed the Seven but I'm a Stark and I have always followed the old gods. I swear a sacred oath to you that I shall only use this knowledge for the good of my people."

“It's about Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark…” Sam says after giving thoughtful consideration to Sansa's honest words.

Sansa’s eyes are wide as saucers by the time Samwell has finished telling the tale of a boy who was born a Prince of the greatest dynasty the world has seen and raised as her father’s bastard in her own home. She folds her hands neatly in front of her skirt and squares her shoulders, as a show of power, move she has picked up from the self-proclaimed queen of the seven kingdoms, Jon’s lover, Jon’s aunt by blood. “Thank you, my lord. You might have given me what I need to save the North from the queen's tyranny. Of course, Jon cannot see it because he is related to her. But best keep it between us as I am sure you understand that Jon will be immensely displeased if he found out that you shared his secret with me. After all, I’m only a cousin and we were never that close.” Sansa laments with the sadness of a savaged dove.

“Ah, yes, my lady. I must take your leave now, little Sam and Gilly await me in the new chambers you have so generously granted. I almost forgot I came here to thank you for it.” Sam bows as Sansa turns her attention away from him.

_Always keep your foes confused. If they are never certain who you are or what you want,_ _they cannot know what you are like to do next. Sometimes the best way to baffle them is to make moves that have no purpose or even seem to work against you. Remember that, Sansa, when you come to play the game of thrones. Everyone wants something. And when you know what a man wants you know who he is, and how to move him, _Lord Baelish had taught.

_ What does Tyrion want? _Sansa wonders as she sees him bid farewell to his brother and waddles up the battlements, towards her.

** JON**

The following weeks are a blur. There are rumors of sellsword companies led by a hidden Dornish Prince descending on the shores of Westeros that reach the North through limited correspondence they have left with the Southern kingdoms. There’s a grapevine amongst the lords that the southern queen would wed soon and Jon can see that Winterfell feels almost relieved at it. Jon does not think he has the right to question if that is what Dany wants as well - to forge alliances of course, he tells himself. He understands it’s the pragmatic thing to do; doesn’t mean it causes him any less grief or if he is honest, anger as well. Daenerys does not say anything about it. The ravens that arrive from Dragonstone keep them informed of the events in the South but none says much about _ her _ or how she was faring, if she still thinks of him or if he was forgotten like a bad dream. The last one that arrives a moon turn and a fortnight since Dany’s departure declares the North an independent kingdom with Jon as its king and that a large Targaryen army will be marching on King’s Landing to take back what is rightfully _ theirs. _

“Why? She lost a large segment of her armies and a dragon in our fight. I'm sure this is a mistake or some sort of coercion. Why would she do that?” Jon questions no one and everyone in the council.

“Sansa?” Jon glares.

“What?” Sansa retorts. “Don’t you see, Daenerys has usurped your real claim by offering you the North. By declaring you the King in the North, she is trying to eliminate any threat to her own rule in the South. ”

Jon’s wroth is beyond measure and he wants to strike them all for betraying his trust. 

“Who told you?” Jon growls.

“Jj.. Jon, I’m sorry… it was me. I was only trying to protect you and the North.” Sam interrupts.

Jon moves towards Samwell with his fists tightly curled and the craven whimpers, but Sansa throws herself between them. "Jon, please..."

Ignoring her words and her presence, Jon looks past her. “Protect me? From what? You think if I trusted anyone here I wouldn’t have told them this myself?”

Feeling insulted at Jon’s words, Sansa protests. “We had the right to know! Our father was faithful to our mother and she died suffering the indignity of thinking her husband had been unfaithful to her. You owed it to the memory of the woman who raised you under her own roof even though she assumed all her life that you were her husband’s bastard!”

“Sansa!” Arya warns threateningly and her eyes brim with tears.

“No, let her speak.” The blood in his veins, Jon’s very existence, thrums in hatred. 

Her eyes are ripe with anger but Sansa gathers her wits and feigns lady-like politeness. “Perhaps father hid you here so that you could one day claim your rightful place. We wouldn't know, he died too soon." she looks down and then at Jon with sad, moist eyes, "Do you not see it, it’s your destiny!”

For the first time since discovering his true identity, bitterness and anger that have been gnawing at him become unbound and spiteful words spill from his lips, “Your mother resented my very existence. She resented my presence in her perfect life, resented the food I ate and glared me down whenever I bettered her trueborn son Robb at swordplay or at fuckin' numbers or anything else, however trivial! I did not ask to be born and I did not ask to be brought to your fucking home. And yet, here I was. _ Your father _left me no other option but to go to the Wall and the only king I could have become there would have been that of the Others! You pretend the Iron Throne is my destiny but you prefer to ignore that the woman **you knew** I loved would have offered me all that and more. Tell me again _ Sansa _ , since when have_ you _of all people started believing that the Iron Throne belongs to me? " Jon shakes his head in disgust.

“The Northerners have witnessed you ride Rhaegal, Tyrion believed me, others will come to see it too! Perhaps he has already convinced Varys too. And would becoming the king of six kingdoms be so wrong? You’re the last living male heir of the Targaryen kings!”

“You shared **my** secret with a Lannister!” Jon cocks his head and raises his brow in fury. “And now that Daenerys has given you the so-called freedom you always wanted, you also want me to stake my claim over the Iron Throne, steal that one last thing she has left to hold on to. Is that what you want? Should I scream at people that I’m not Eddard Stark’s only stain, I’m their rightful king? Are you also going to parade Bran across the kingdoms trying to convince them of the truth of my claim; telling them who they fucked and what color their shit looked like because that would surely convince them of his _ magical _ sight? Or are you going to show them a decade old diary of some drunk Septon? _ A fucking personal diary! _ What is it that you truly want, Sansa?"

"Jon.." she tries to interrupt but Jon silences her with his stern glare.

"_ Six kingdoms? _ With a king of so-called honorable _ Stark _ blood, shouldn’t the North be part of those kingdoms? Don't take me for your fool Sansa. You want me to take the Iron Throne because you fear if I stay here I will usurp the trueborn children of Ned Stark and if Dany takes the throne, she’ll announce you for what you are - a greedy charlatan who wants to play at being queen and nothing more!" he huffs, every sliver of his body rebelling at his cousin’s presence, "And they say Littlefinger died in this very castle.” Jon stares at the Stark siblings whom he no longer seems to recognize and does not hide his disgust with what Sansa and Samwell have done.

“You shall not speak a word of it with anyone unless I know what’s happening. Do you understand?”

Sansa purses her lips tightly and nods. Jon stares at Arya, waiting for her to defend her clever sister but only hears her turn to Sansa and whisper, “I once claimed you were the cleverest person I’ve ever met. Father took this enormous secret to his grave and you, who has done Cersei’s bidding to save your own life couldn’t see how it endangered Jon? Do you never learn from your own stupidities? Did you forget what happened with father at King’s Landing all because you couldn't keep a secret?” 

“I’m sorry Jon. If it means anything, you’re still our brother. We’re still a pack.” Arya looks dejectedly towards the brother she has always shared the deepest bond with.

“No, it doesn’t. Nothing fucking matters. Not your words of unity anyway. Not when your lips utter one thing and your actions speak just the opposite.” He does not wish to make peace with them anymore. Their beds have been made and it's time to lay in it. While they may find some comfort in theirs, Jon feels his had been sown with flesh-eating worms and thorns.

Jon turns to maester Wolkan, asking him to find the fastest raven for he has a message for Dragonstone.

“At once, your grace.. err.. my lord.” Wolkan stutters.

_ Together they'd be difficult to defeat. _ A familiar voice murmurs in Sansa's ears and she looks at Samwell, hoping in her heart that stuttering fool won’t break.

  
  


_ Dany, how can I help? _

_ ~ Jon _

  
  
  


_ Jon, _

_ Protect the North and its freedom. More soon. _

_ ~ Daenerys _

Even deep inside the Wolfswood, the game is scarce. Jon worries that the hungry populace will soon rise in rebellion if the situation is not addressed. That past moon there had been several incidents of food riots between the northerners and the free-folk in Wintertown. Jon is lost in his thoughts, absentmindedly stroking Ghost's mane when Tormund hands him a horn of ale. He then turns the skinned rabbits over the roasting pit and jests, “They say your queen was an abomination!”

Ghost bares his fangs and growls at the wildling but Jon urges him away into the woods. Had those words come from anyone else, he would have taken offense and most likely the man would have lost his tongue or had his face thrust in the burning coals and charred wood. But Tormund, he is different; underneath his crass words and bawdy gestures, his friend is one of his true well-wishers and means well. “Aye, she was. So was my father, so was my mother; their sires too had married within the family.”

“Har! No wonder the gods have cursed you with a tiny pecker!”

Jon snorts and gulps down the ale in one breath and stretches his horn. “More” he seeks; he’ll seek anything that can make him forget about the past.

“Tis true then, what they’re saying about ya’? That you’re a king, hidden beneath the Snow?”

When Jon does not answer, Tormund does not prod him further on it because crowns mean little more than shit to him. But he’s still Tormund and he’ll look out for his friend in his own innocent way. “You know, we all thought she had stolen you. We all expected you to leave with her, why didn’t ye?” Tormund asks him warmly this time, with a deep sense of understanding that Jon has come to expect of his friend, something he should expect of his family of two decades but shall never receive. “You’d have made pretty looking lads and prettier looking lasses with her!”

“Aye, they would've been but she could not have children. I wished she could have… I prayed to the gods that my seed would take root and even after I had come to know that my sire was her brother, I still shamelessly prayed for a babe. I hoped that someday she would whisper in my ears that she was with child, my child, our babe, and that would give a reason for us to be bound together in marriage. ..but it was not to be.”

“I don’t understand, Snow. If you didn’t want to leave her, why did you? Apparently, all you southerners fuck within the family - you say your sires’ sires were clansmen, that bloody kingslayer fucked his sister and two of his gets sat the Iron Chair, so why not her? Was it because she couldn’t give you babes?”

“No, Others take me, not because of it! I reckoned I was failing the family that had raised me, I would have been forsaking them if I chose her. After the great war ended, I realized that Dany and my family were more estranged than ever. My sisters did not like her Tormund, and honor demanded that I fulfilled my duty to the family of the man who raised me.” Jon then looks into Tormund’s confused gaze, seeking his understanding, “I could not turn my back on them; not right after the war, not when I truly believed that the North needed me. I was a bastard who was _ made _ king, it was not my birthright like Robb’s. I didn’t want to become another stain, a stain on my ilk because I chose the family of the man who sired me over the one who raised me. I chose duty over love and _ Daenerys _..” he pauses, savoring the taste of her name on his tongue, “She grudgingly accepted that I couldn’t be with her and paid the price for my Gods forsaken honor. She trusted me, begged me to remain together, and I failed her. I came to regret it though and wrote her but it was too late I suppose and she had lost too much on my account to bear my presence anymore. I hate it though, being king, ruling, everything... It brings me no joy but I do this as repentance for everything she lost all because I came into her life.”

The Kings of Winter always reminded him that he wasn’t one of them and yet, he clung to a diminishing hope that a day would come when they would embrace him and he shall have a place in the halls of their dead. Jon does not care for them anymore and worse, he never wishes to find out what the Kings of Fire think of him.

“She was a good woman, not **strong** like the big woman but fierce! We freefolk respect that! And she was good for ya, ye know. Does she have any family in the South?”

“No, she doesn’t.” Jon pauses. “Mayhaps she does. I don’t know and she won’t tell me anything.” Jon lowers his head in sadness. He never gave her a cause to wait for him and no queen can remain unmarried for so long. Not even when you have dragons and armies. And she deserves happiness, deserves the world, and everything in it that he could not offer. “You won’t understand, Tormund.”

“Thank the fucking gods that I don’t! But I have to tell ya, I think yer just afraid to be happy, afraid of love.”

_ Mayhaps... _“Tormund, do you reckon our children would have been ill-formed? Monsters?” Jon swallows the ale and holds his breath.

“Why?” the wildling looks confusedly at Jon and then it occurs to him. “Oh! Fuck me, I’ve spent too much time with ye Southerners!” Tormund chuckles callously and thumps his back. “Yer prettier than all my daughters, she was the prettiest woman anyone has seen, yer both brave and fearless, honor-bound to yer fucking word even if it kills ye from inside, the only two people this wildling has ever seen riding fire-breathing dragons with more prance than half of the Southern cunts ride horses.” The look in Tormund’s eyes is forlorn when he says, “Yer the only ones who cared enough to fight for the people who were different. Her horse people are much like us, ye know. They will respect ye if ye can kill them! Har! Do ye really think anyone that came from y'ur loins and her womb would be a monster, Snow?”

After a long time, Jon smiles - his cheeks hurt because he can’t remember when was the last time he’d been truly happy and his heart aches in agony. “No, they couldn’t be monsters, they would have been formidable… I sometimes think of them, see them in my dreams. Those are the only peaceful moments of my life” Jon pours his heart out, unsure whether it’s the ale talking, but he is feeling better for being honest with himself in a very long time. His dreams aren’t ghosts to be locked away, they are a part of his heart and he shall imagine them run fearless and wild, challenging the world and the Gods.

  
  
  


“What is the meaning of this?” Jon roars loudly, drawing his sword from the scabbard.

“This bas… “

“Go on, say it!” Jon glowers at the sentry.

“Apologies, Your Grace. This boy was caught stealing a poor woman’s ration. We tried to stop him, he attacked us with weapons.”

Jon examines the boy with a freckled nose and red hair, "who are you, boy?" he asks.

“I’m Ebin, son of Eric mi’lord. These people lie, that’s not what happened.” The boy mumbles, close to tears. “Twas no weapon mi’lord. Just a stick… look” the boy points his finger to a cracked whip made out of weirwood branch. “And I ain’t any thief. These people give more food to the town folk and only the rotten onions and apples to us. I asked them for two, one for me, one for me sister who’s sick, but they pushed me to the ground.”

“A hungry boy of less than ten disarmed you with a stick and you thought it was wise for four guards to bind and haul him into the cells? On whose command, to be sure?” 

“Lady Sansa, Your Grace.”

Angry voices rise in the background, each side blaming the other. Shoving breaks out as people throng to collect their share of rations and return to their homes before the sun falls.

“Leave the boy be and keep the peace.” Jon warns the soldiers.

“Silence!” Tormund’s voice booms over the crowd’s shuffling and angry screams. 

“I understand you all are scared and hungry, but you’re being fed as best as we can. No harm will come to you or your children, however, if any of you violate the peace, your body will return to your home short by a head.” Jon commands aloud and he then turns to Tormund, 

“Find your men as well, make sure there’s no fighting until I return.”

“Snow, wait!’ Tormund yells but Jon yanks his horse’s reins and it spins away towards Winterfell.

Jon finds Sansa in the Hall and one cold stare across the room, the maester and lord Ryswell and Lady Dustin quickly scramble away with their scrolls and parchments.

“You sent soldiers to drag starving freefolk into prison?”

“Stay out of it, Jon. I’ve had it with these people. They’re savages, raiders, more beasts than men! They call themselves free and have naught a bushel of barn of their own to feed themselves. These people don’t follow our laws, they refuse to bend the knee!”

“Bend the knee? **To whom?**”

“To Winterfell! To whoever is in charge of Winterfell.” Sansa tilts her nose upwards.

“I’m still the King of the Gods-fucking North and I never asked them to kneel before me! Last I checked, Winterfell is still a part of the North or have you forgotten everything you learned from Maester Lewin? These free folk have defended your home twice over! While honor and compassion are too much to expect of you, where is your fuckin’ gratitude?”

She glances at him, skin flushed red with rage. “Every day we receive one ill-omened news after the other from the South and you run off to the woods instead of concerning yourself with the challenges of politics. And we wouldn’t be in any of this quandary if you had staked your claim over what was rightfully yours. You do know your claim stands to this day, whether you want it or not. As for the wildlings, they helped us because they needed us as much we needed them. But now, they live on our lands and have to follow our rules or go back to where they came from!”

Her words are making him feral. “You, who betrayed your liege and family by blood in the name of independence, cannot allow these people to remain free?”

Sansa lowers herself in her chair with an unforgiving stare that fills Jon with dread. “They’re free to _ leave_. That’s all the freedom they will get from Winterfell unless you can find enough grain to feed them.”

“I could have if you had made any allies and hadn’t turned the six kingdoms against us! Maybe you can ask the Eyrie to part with some of their grain because I’m not sure how Lady Catelyn’s nephew would feel about sending food to Ned Stark’s bastard!”

“Maybe I will! But not for them, these are not _ our _ people.”

“You’ve spent too much time in the south, Sansa. That naïve girl that went south died with Lady, only her pelt returned. I don’t know who you are anymore, Lady Lannister. I will not undermine your tribulations but you will come to regret your arrogance someday and find yourself alone in the darkness of your own making.” Jon voices calmly upon realizing they had been screaming at each other but neither truly listening.

Tormund bursts into the room, his red eyes brimming with shame and unshed tears, “We are not the monsters you people make us to be but we’re not craven either. And we have more self-respect than ye bloody Southerners. I will collect my people and we begin our march North.”

“Tormund, wait," Jon calls after him. "No one has gone beyond the wall in moons. You don’t know what dangers lurk there. Where will you go?”

“Don’t know yet but anywhere else will be better than this.” Tormund spits. “Are ya done playing the highlord’s bastard or ya stayin’?”

A hot rush of fear and sweat flashes across Sansa’s neck. “Jon can’t leave! Our independence, our freedom to make our own mistakes and the fate of our House, _ everything _ rests upon his assent to remain our King!”

Jon looks between Sansa and Tormund. He stares between the darkened windows, stifling heat of the Hall and the infinite stretch of light and pearl-like flakes of snow dancing right outside of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events of the South will be explored in the next chapter and we then return to the North & Jon.
> 
> For those who asked, Rhaegal is alive! We'll meet him later.
> 
> There won't be any marriage or even talks about marriage with the "Prince of Dorne". Neither of the two is going to have an affair, it's a Jonerys story all the way.


	3. Dany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany & the Prince of Dorne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a product of iia's hard labor and my impatience. The amount of time she spent with me on this is astounding. I really have no words to thank her. 
> 
> We believe there has to be a method to the madness. I hope you all will enjoy our vision and let us know what you think.
> 
> * All Dothraki and Valyrian conversation is written in the common tongue for ease of reading.

**Dany**

  
  


_Free._ Leaving behind the frigid air of the North, Daenerys feels free. The world was rid of the cold icy eyes and pale shadows that had unleashed terror the likes of which have not been witnessed in generations. But it isn’t the freedom from those frightening creatures, or from the stench of corpses that had burned day and night to cleanse the land, nor was it the freedom from the foulness of the black blood of the undead who had tried to clench her the day she lost her trusted advisor and friend, Ser Jorah. There was an invisible noose she had felt tightening around her neck, snuffing the air out of her lungs. Every sordid eye that fell on her and her people had begun to make her feel paranoid, fearful even. The undying of Qarth had predicted three betrayals and as misfortune would have it, she was certain that the last one was creeping up on her in the dank chambers of the northern castle of Winterfell. _One_ _for love_, the undying had spoken. For the love she bore for the living or the love she bore for the Northern king? Should she have sided with the dead then or betrayed the last of her kin? Daenerys’ face twitches and she urges Drogon to fly away from that gods forsaken place, away from the North, back to _home_.

She is wary of straying too close to the coast or wandering too far into the sea but stops on a seemingly deserted island near the Fingers when the sun is nigh and later takes shelter on a hill along the coastline because Rhaegal has not fully recovered from the injuries he sustained during the Great War. “When we are home, you can protect me and Drogon will bring you food.” Daenerys coos, running her hand gently over his thick hide and resting with her back against his wings. Rhaegal returns her affections with coos that appears childlike to her but sends the crows flying out of the forest.

  
  


A smaller company of the Unsullied sweeps the dragon island for enemies and two days hence, a contingent of Dothraki, Daenerys, and her dragons arrive on Dragonstone. Daenerys anxiously waits for Greyworm and her bloodriders, for Tyrion and Varys, her Dothraki handmaidens and most of all, for her friend, Missandei, all of whom are still traveling with the Targaryen fleet. She recalls from the time when they sailed towards the North that it may take a few more days until all of her people return.

While Daenerys waits, she follows the same ritual each day. In the mornings, she rushes to soak herself in scalding hot water; there isn’t enough heat in the world to ward away the cold and exhaustion she feels but she allows herself the luxury of spending a long time in the water, something she had missed in the castle of Winterfell. Her handmaids ritually wash her hair and scrub her skin for what seems like hours. Dany is certain that at some points she slips into a fatigue induced slumber. They later apply oils to her hair before tying it loosely in a single braid as per her instructions. Daenerys skips her morn meals, feeling under the weather, and walks the castle and its gardens in order to ease her troubled thoughts.

She has never kept any gods but upon reaching the gardens on the first day, she had sent word to her maester to find a weirwood tree and have it brought to her island. Her heart is set on a spot where she thinks the heart-tree will take root and she marks the earth with her caresses and clears it with her own hands. She then goes to the Sept that had been restored after she had taken the island and lights candles to all Seven. She particularly asks the Warrior for strength in wars to come and later sits in front of the Mother in silence until her stomach growls in protest. Gathering herself up from the floor of the Sept, drawn by the smell of roasted horseflesh and blood pies, she finds herself riding towards the Dothraki settlement where she comes across stories after stories from the many widowed women and orphaned children. She asks the dosh khaleen to treat them kindly and forbids any man from laying a hand on them against their will. As if to reinforce her command, Drogon and Rhaegal let out mighty roars as they fly above the gathered khalasar and the Westerosi inhabitants of her island.

Upon returning to her chambers, she asks the servants to fetch her a parchment and ink. She thinks she must write to the Targaryen loyalists, and other Lords of Westeros. Mayhaps she should have sent them a word from Winterfell, they could have formed a council and begun war deliberations as soon as Tyrion and Varys were back. But she decides against it. She needs Tyrion to be there to help understand the undercurrents of Westerosi politics and enlighten her as to who will be more accepting and which lords will require coercion. So, she writes to Jon instead; asking him how he fares, if the North needs more food, asks him to think of people he can nominate to her council when she ascends the throne. She reminds him that she would like to have him on her council if he can find a new warden for the North.  _ Stay by my side, as my king; _ she wishes to truly say.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Daenerys wants to hate grey. The grey of the endless waters that surround her castle, the grey of the walls inside it, the grey that envelops the sky when the sun goes down, the grey of clouds that blanket the moon and the stars when she wants to ride Drogon at nights. Most of all she wants to hate the grey of the eyes that haunt her in her dreams. Like some sorcery, the eyes always shift. They sometimes morph into a dragon’s eyes, other times, they change color to paler shade that looks more lilac than grey. Daenerys wants to hate it all but she can’t. Not when those grey eyes smile at her like they never smiled at anyone else, not when the grey eyes look like crescents of the moon hidden under the lids and she can feel the heaviness low in her belly and hear whispers in her ears. And certainly not when the haze gives way and she can see the face behind the grey…

The grey that haunts her that night is of a storm raging in the skies and clouds weeping in horror, and then, an unending ocean of blackness. When all goes quiet, a great fire explodes from the heart of the sea and roars in anger. A fire that does not cleanse, a fire that is vile and treacherous. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Your Grace,” Daenerys feels it in her bones before Varys can utter the next words.  _ Some great misfortune, an ill-omen _ . “I’m afraid there's bad news. Our fleet was caught in a sea storm when a lone ship headed their way exploded. As a result some of our frontline ships went up in flames and were destroyed.”

_ “How?” _ She asks, unable to believe what she was hearing. “Why was it allowed to get so close to our ships?”

“When the gale started gathering force, our ships tried to head east, towards the coast, for safety, when the front guard spotted a ship sailing almost against the wind heading their way. Under the gaze of lightning, our crew spotted families on the deck and there was no other ship in sight to consider them a threat. It appeared to have lost direction... But despite our many calls and warnings their crew answered nothing, and unlike the crying women and children they were silent as stonemen. They gave no sign of attack and so our sailors only thought to help them at first.” Varys dithers then, “As the ship came closer, no one could say what was happening. Some say they saw a foul green liquid leaking through its planks. Shortly after, the merchant ship went up in flames, setting the sea on fire, taking three of our ships down with it and damaging two more. Hundreds of our men went to the bottom of the sea along with the ships, while many jumped into the ocean and were rescued.”

“How can a ship explode? How did the fire spread to not one but five of ourships?” she asks, disbelievingly. “How?”

“Wildfire.” Tyrion answers before Varys could explain.

“Was it Greyjoy?” Varys thinks aloud.

“Not alone. Cersei. It was her.” Tyrion speaks. At last.

“And how would you know?” Dany asks.

“Because...” Tyrion hangs his head in frustration at first and then snarls, “because I did that once. I did it at the Blackwater Bay. I’m the monster who orchestrated the deaths of thousands with wildfire. And I did it so my vicious sister and my monstrous nephew could remain on the throne!”

Tyrion hears Dany gasp in horror. “And no, this wasn’t an attack. It was a warning. A warning for what is to follow.” he says.

“How was this a warning? This was a challenge! It’s your sister mocking us and saying she can target us at will. Are we too craven to respond or are you going to need time to gloat over the strategy you,  _ my lord Hand, _ devised when you served your vile sister?” 

She stares between the two men. “Is this the woman you’ve been asking me to hold back against? One who would use innocent women and children to send me a  _ warning _ ?”

Tryion understands her acerbity. “We still have over 50 ships. All is not lost.”

“Except those three ships **and** _Balerion_. Because of the storms, the ships had to lower their sails, and in the ensuing chaos, and their desperate attempts to retreat, the currents and the winds carried them away. We believe that _Balerion_ is somewhere out there on the sea.” Varys remarks.

Daenerys slumped into the chair. “Grey Worm?”

“He is beside himself but safe. He was on  _ Meraxes _ at the time.”

“My people?”  _ Irri, Karra…. Missandei, _ she thinks dreadfully.

“The seas are calm now, we’re searching for them. Don’t fret, Your Grace, no harm will come to our people.”

“Since when have my people been safe, Varys?” Daenerys scowls. “Why wasn’t Missandei on the same ship as Greyworm?”

_ Stupid, brave men and their zeal for upholding morals at the cost of others’ lives and happiness! _ She thinks irkfully when Tyrion tosses her a knowing glance and admits that Greyworm didn’t want to appear biased in choosing his duties so he left Whiterat in charge of  _ Balerion _ and himself assumed command of  _ Meraxes _ .

“Drogon and I shall scout the seas for their whereabouts. Meanwhile, gather the commanders, Lord Tyrion. Now!” Daenerys orders as she rubs her forehead with her fingers feeling helpless and dejected.

  
  
  
  
  


_ ‘We cannot attack King’s Landing.. what about the people.. burn them all.. you must be wary of the mad king’s legacy, your grace…you’re too important to ride into a battle.. we need to make alliances before marching on King’s Landing… you need powerful allies to thwart the Northern pretender who can turn the lords against you.. commit to a blockade… let them starve… they all deserve to die.. ’ _

In the cacophony of words, one suggestion catches Dany’s attention. Barring the three of them, Tyrion, Varys and Greyworm, she instructs everyone else to leave. “Lord Varys? What is it that we know about this  _ Northern pretender _ ?”

_ Silence. _

“I asked you a question, my lord.” She insists with a growl in her voice.

“Your Grace,” Tyrion steps forward and interjects, “we  _ know _ about Jon Snow. Sansa confided in me before we left Winterfell.”

Tyrion has the shame to look away, unlike Varys who stares straight into Dany’s eyes looking almost unimpressed with that bit of information. She walks towards the large window overlooking the sea. “Tell me, my lord Hand, what was the purpose of not coming to me and instead going to Varys with this secret?”

Varys shifts uncomfortably but Tyrion raises a hand, signalling that he must allow him to explain. “He’s your master of whisperers and it is my opinion that he should be made privy to any and all secrets so that any threats to your claim could be weeded out before they take root.”

“And why do you think Sansa confided in you?”

Flabbergasted, Tyrion mumbles, “She trusts me, I suppose.”

“Of course. And do you know what she hoped to gain by sharing the truth of Jon’s parentage?”

“She.. she.. she just wants to keep herself and her people safe. She is traumatized by her past.”

“And, pray tell Tyrion, how exactly are we making her feel unsafe? How does revealing Jon’s heritage to you make him or the North any safer? If I am the tyrant they believe me to be, do you think you could stop me from flying North and razing their frigid castle and worthless existence to ashes? You said you knew Jon Snow, why did you not ask him what he wished to do with that information? Clearly, he didn’t just forget to mention that bit to his bannermen. Did you not pause to think he might have shared his secret with his  _ family _ in good faith and it wasn’t upto Sansa or you to announce it to the world?” Dany questions impassively. Not finding an answer forthcoming, she asks, “You’ve been married to her, is it not?”

“Yes. It was but a sham. The Lannisters had killed her family and she was given to me... I was her punishment and there was nothing in that marriage. As I said, it was a mummery.” Tyrion looks offended.

“So clearly, you don’t know her.”

“She has suffered a lot, Your Grace.”

“Haven’t we all, Lord Tyrion? Are you sure she didn’t intend to test your loyalty towards the Queen you’re sworn to serve, in which case, I’m afraid to say, you’ve gloriously failed! Now, I want you and Varys to bring Missandei home. If you fail, you’d have to find yourself another monarch to serve.” Dany smiles mirthlessly, “Not that you will find trouble serving a new monarch but you will also find that my mercy and my patience are very scant these days.” 

“What about the North? How do we deal with them?” Varys asks incredulously.

Dany throws him a side glance, thinking how he can’t bring himself to even feign concern for the Northmen. “We don’t. We leave them to their own devices for now. Send a raven to Winterfell, inform them as little of the developments as necessary. Tyrion, warn Sansa she must stop with her games already and I would grant the North the independence she so craves.” 

“Your Grace, you cannot grant them independence. What would stop the others from doing the same?”

“By  _ same _ you mean, using my own council against me? “ she frowns. “As I said earlier, others are free to ask as well.”

“We will be at war soon, shouldn’t we curtail our spending on the North?” Varys suggests.

“And let the people starve?” Tyrion interjects.

“I don’t see you sending supplies to King’s Landing.”

“It’s because they are not on our side!”

“And the North is?” Varys smiles enigmatically.

Daenerys is seized by pain and her knuckles go pale as she grips the dragons carvings around the large window. “I don’t have time for your webs, Lord Varys. And not for your blunders either, Lord Tyrion. Find your bearings and fix  _ this _ ! Don’t starve the people but cut back on other aid. And bring back Missandei! You’re both dismissed!”

“Greyworm, keep an eye on the Spider and Tyrion. Make sure they don’t suspect you.” 

“As you command, my Queen.”

Daenerys takes a pause, “There’s something else I need you to do for me.. can you send a word to the dosh khaleen?”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“So what if your blood doesn’t come with the moon, I’m sure of  _ it _ . Sometimes the pain comes when a strong life takes root, khaleesi. Or it could be the Great Stallion reminding you that another battle is coming and you need to prepare yourself for it. It’s a battle we women have to fight all on our own, one in which no armies or riches can aid us, only the courage of our hearts can.”

She blearily gazes at the canopy as she lies rid of her leather pants and small clothes underneath, the skirt of her long dress is bunched up against her ribs. The old crone of the dosh khaleen pulls a gold coin from a leather pouch that hangs by a string around her waist and presses it into the open palm of the healer. “This is for the good omens, Qira, and there will be more when you bring our khalakka into this world. Wait outside for me.” 

The woman helps Daenerys cover her modesty and offers a tea that Dany refuses with a shake of her head. 

“How...? How can this be?” Dany asks. 

The elderly woman laughs, “It has been a long time to be able to recall the exact details but it happens when a man meets a woman, a khal meets his khaleesi.”

Dany still looks aghast, incapable of seeing any humor in the woman’s words. When she looks too stunned to speak, the woman sits by her side and tucks Dany’s locks behind her ears. “You’re young, a khaleesi of your people, you have birthed dragons, you’re the stallion who mounts the world, why does a babe scare you,  _ my child _ ?”

_My child?_ She remembers being a responsibility, a burden, a prized possession, an object of desire, a queen, someone to dread, someone to follow even, but not being a _child_. _Never being a child._ Who was the last one to consider her that? Viserys? Jorah? Ser Barristan… mayhaps? _No._ _No one ever considered you a child. _She doesn’t truly remember being a child. She grew up too fast too soon. In her days of _childhood_ she was sold and raped, lost a brother and a babe, became a widow and walked the scorching earth in sandals of weaved grass. And then she birthed dragons, freed the slaves, and came to be known as the dragon queen. Deep inside her bones, inside that wretched place they call heart, she feels as old as the crone standing before her. Even older… 

_ You lost your childhood in this very castle the day you came out of your mother’s womb. Will your babe have the same fate as you? A babe who may never see another sibling. A babe who may never learn what it means to have a family. What if the babe is a girl? Will she be sold too, like you were? No! She will have her winged brothers to protect her. And her people…  _

“Khalakka you say? What if it isn’t a son?” she asks, still too dazed to process her thoughts.

“Then we follow the daughter the Great Stallion will give you. Have we not followed  _ you _ to the ends of the earth, khaleesi?”

“Yes, yes you have.” 

The crone laughs then;  _ a motherly sort of laughter _ , Daenerys reckons. “And you have your whole life ahead of you. A son will come too, in time. A son to bear your name, a son so strong and brave, he will make us all proud. And your daughter will fill this great castle with songs and dance and bear you grandsons and granddaughters to carry your legacy long after we have all gone.”

Daenerys tears up and implores the woman to keep  _ it _ a secret until the wars are won.

That night she picks the quill and reminds Jon of the promise he once made. 

_ Jon, _

_ You said you were a raven away. _

_ ~ Dany _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Have we received any terms from Cersei?” Dany asks her council. 

“I’m afraid, not yet,” comes the response.

“Any word from Winterfell?”

“Nothing since I wrote Sansa what you asked.” Says Tyrion.

“Was she grateful to you for doing her bidding?” Daenerys voices in annoyance.

“She was,” Tyrion turns the direwolf between his fingers, “when I told her that you’re considering  _ options _ for the North, and it’s place or lack thereof in your vision of the Seven kingdoms. She was grateful for  _ that _ .”

“It is not what I asked you to convey.”

“It is not. I cannot obey every decree you issue in anger.”

“It’s treason – disobeying your queen.” Dany says, her tone betraying the outrage in her eyes.

“My Queen can punish me if she thinks I have committed treason by not giving the North their  _ independence _ . I have to admit, broken things are my weakness and am trying to rectify my ways to serve you as best as possible.”

“Very well.” She sighs knowing fully well that Tyrion has merely postponed the inevitable. She hopes to resolve the matter of the North once and for all when Jon is with her. 

_ Mayhaps Jon is already on his way and doesn’t wish to let anyone know. _ She thinks, hopes, ignoring the longing for approval in Tyrion’s eyes. That and something  _ more _ ….

“Dorne has a new Prince who wishes to make an alliance with Your Grace.” Varys informs, passing the raven to her.

“A Martell?” she says incredulously after inspecting the contents of the message. “I shall like to meet this Prince. What do you know of him, Varys?”

“This is the first time I’m hearing of it. I thought all Martells were dead and my birds don’t sing since the time Your Grace has put spies on me.”

“What would you have done Lord Varys if you thought someone was betraying you?”

“Cage him, to be sure. Allow me some time. Mayhaps I can find a canary.” He bows obsequiously.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The Prince of Dorne and his retinue arrive in the early hours one morning and climb the stairs of the fortress in silence. Tyrion, who was there to receive them on the Queen’s behalf, sluggishly trials behind the Prince and his men whose lips are set in purposeful sternness.

“Fresh baths have been drawn for you and the Queen’s own bloodriders will escort you to your chambers. The queen will send for you when she is ready.” Tyrion informs them.

Around mid-noon, the queen gives the Prince and his men an audience in the Great Hall. “Apologies for keeping you waiting, Prince..?” 

“Griff of House Martell, Your Grace.” The prince bends at the waist and takes Dany’s hand to place a customary kiss on the back of her palm.

“An unusual name for a Dornishman, I must say. You have remained a mystery, Prince  _ Griff _ Martell, it is our pleasure to host you at Dragonstone.” Dany admits and offers him bread and salt.

“My father in all but name named me thus; he is from the Stormlands. And there is no need for apologies Your Grace, I can well understand the burdens of ruling and I have been made aware of your precarious situation.” This  _ Prince _ is a comely, beardless man with a sharp nose, long eyelashes and solemn eyes. He smiles with an air of ease and Dany thinks of many men and women from Dorne she has met during her first stay at Dragonstone. She remembers meeting another Stormlander in Winterfell and has heard that they are big, burly men, passionate and always eager for a fight. But the man in front of her, with his blue hair and clad in rich silks of indigo and silver seems neither. 

The Dornish Prince hastily proceeds to introduce his men to the Queen. They’re from free cities as well as Dorne and the Stormlands and she can sense the wariness in their demeanor. The meeting passes without note and Dany invites him for a private dinner later in the evening. “My Lord Hand will give us company and you’re welcome to bring your most trusted advisor with you, my Prince.” she says.

“I trust all my men equally, Your Grace.” the Prince remarks too soon and a frown sets upon his advisor’s lips whom Dany remembers being referred to as the Darkstar. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Daenerys finally receives him in the large dining hall. After watching the Prince from further away earlier, it is now that the Queen observes his striking appearance even more closely. He is again clad in blue; opulent velvets woven with gold thread that reflect into his irises giving them a deep blue hue that seems purple in the red firelight. 

The first course of a lavish dinner is served and Dany worries that she might empty the contents of her stomach in front of her esteemed guest. She isn’t sure if it’s her  _ condition _ or the grimness she feels in her chest. 

They dine in silence for brief moments, before Dany runs her thumb over the rim of her silver goblet, and tilts her head towards her guest, “Prince Griff, if I may, yours is a unique appearance for a Dornishman. Even your accent seems familiar to my ears.”

“I am a Westerosi who has never had the fortune of meeting his sires and was raised in Essos after my family perished in Robert’s rebellion. Same as you but without a brother to care for me. During one of my travels, I made the acquaintance of Princess Arianne Martell, who was residing with her mother in Norvos, and we fell in love.” He admits, almost shyly.

“Arianne Martell?”

“Prince Doran’s daughter and his only surviving heir. She was sent to live with her mother when Prince Doran began suspecting Prince Oberyn’s natural-born daughters’ loyalties.”

“I see. I’m happy for you. It is rather fortuitous to be able to find true love in this world. Tell me more about yourself, Prince Griff. Who did you say your sires were? I am certain they must have been a handsome couple”. She smiles. “If I were to ask you to stop wearing blue and to wash the color off your hair, what would I find underneath, Prince Griff of House Martell?”

The Prince gently puts down his knife and fork and brings the cup of arbor gold to his lips, swallowing the morsel of butter roasted, spiced lamb and clearing his throat before speaking. “Beaten gold hair and dark purple eyes, your grace.”

She does not meet his eyes for some moments, fearing he will see the clash in them. Barely able to contain her emotions, keeping the fear at bay, she asks, “And who would you say your father would be? King Aerys mayhaps?”

“My father was Rhaegar Targaryen.” The young prince admits with a disarming smile. “I am Aegon Targaryen, son of Princess Elia and Prince Rhaegar. The boy who was butchered at the hands of the Lannister men was a tanner’s son. I have lived my entire life in exile, like you. But now, I’m here and with your assistance, I could claim the Iron Throne, restore our family’s glory.”

She wants to laugh like a woman mad.  _ Two nephews? And here I thought I was the last one to carry our legacy. _

“If I have you killed or even arrested, the threat to my rule is gone.” She continues playing with her food and ignoring Tyrion who has nearly choked on his wine and looks paler than the snow.

The Prince’s Valyrian eyes scrutinize the room and he begins cautiously, “Mayhaps you’re right. But Dorne will never bend to your reign or allow you any peace. Dorne is already unhappy with the support you lent the Sand Snakes who murdered their liege, Prince Doran. My wife, Arianne Martell, his trueborn daughter, Princess of Dorne, is with child and both the priests as well as the midwives agree it’s a son. And if the Seven bless us with a daughter instead, Dorne will not treat her any differently. The sword of King Aegon is safe in Dorne and soon, I shall have an heir, Your Grace. You can kill me, but my heir will take up my sword and my claim. Arianne will see to it. And Dorne shall stand behind them. ” 

  
  


_ And I have neither an heir nor a husband to stand by my side. _ Dany flinches. She almost feels envious of the Princess, of all those women who can be so sure they will bring healthy babes into this world. 

“I mean no offense to our ancestors but, Aegon Targaryen had three dragons and he could not tame the vipers, why would you assume that you’ll succeed where he failed?”

“I was told the dragons will never return, challenged that I could not buy the Unsullied or take the slaver cities, I was constantly reminded that a woman can never be a Khal. Tell me now, do you really want to challenge me,  _ nephew _ ?”

The guest leans back into the chair and cocks his head as if he were lost in deep thought. “No, I suppose it would be most unwise, but I demonstrated trust by coming to you when I could have sent a raven or a messenger. I have been forthright with the truth, and I seek your forgiveness for not coming to you sooner. Should someday you find yourself willing, I’d like to explain my end of the tale and answer all your questions. But now, we have an enemy to defeat and a throne to retake in the name of House Targaryen.”

While time had stood still upon her arrival at Dragonstone, bringing only ill-omened news, things are suddenly moving with haste now and Dany decides that she will fight one battle at a time. She thinks deeply and decides what she thinks is best for her people.

“I will not challenge your claim. I will even help you sit on the Iron Throne. I have my own conditions though. The North remains a free kingdom with Eddard Stark’s natural-born son as it’s King. You honor my word to Yara and in turn, she will support your claim and respect the integrity of the southern kingdom.”

“Your Grace..?”

“I haven’t finished, Prince Griff or is it Prince Aegon? I also demand that you cede Driftmark, Dragonstone, the Westerlands and the parts of the Reach that lie above the Mander and parts of Riverlands to me. As you can see, my people will need food and a home so that they can lead their lives in peace. I could ask you for a portion of the revenue from the remaining kingdoms but I will not burden you and instead, I will pursue trade alliances with your people. Accept and I will relinquish my claim to the Iron Throne.”

“I mean no offense, but the North is the largest of the three Kingdoms and Reach the richest. How do you suppose I explain it to my people that they remain outside our fold?” The prince asks looking aghast now.

“The offer I made you is more than fair, Prince Griff. The dragon standard already flies above Casterly Rock and the North will be near  _ impossible _ for you to take without my dragons.” She folds her hands in her lap and leans back into the chair, observing the bitter mirth in the prince’s eyes. “The Reach can be made to choose. I will tell them that just like the Iron Islands and the North, they can be independent too if they side with me and that I will protect them from any invasion. Or, we both can avoid losing another kingdom and you can tell your council that the Dragon Queen is going to stand between your kingdom and the Ironborn.”

The Prince flexes his fingers and cocks his head to his left while his indigo eyes probe her own lilac ones. “And if I  _ tried _ to win the North, I take it, you will support the bastard king?”

Dany does not answer.  _ Some truths are always better left unsaid. _

The Prince wipes his face, neatly folds his napkin and dragging his chair back on the stone, looks straight into her eyes again, “I was warned you might feel this way. In return, I need you to swear an oath that you would not endorse the bastard as Prince Rhaegar’s get, trueborn or otherwise, unless you want another war at your hands.”

She flinches inwardly, thinking how the word of his parentage has put Jon in harm’s way. But showing fear has never been an option for Daenerys Targaryen.  _ As long as the free-folk and the North stand behind him, he should be safe. _

“War or another Blackfyre rebellion?” She smirks. “Do you think people won’t doubt you when a Blackfyre company rides in your name? Anyone’s legitimacy can be questioned. Even yours. But, I can swear that if you honor your word, I will not be the one to reveal another’s secret. The North is vast, with plenty of untapped resources, I would advise you to pursue trade and maintain friendly relations with them. But at the end of the day, you’re going to be the king of the lands from the Neck to Sunspear and the decision will be yours.” 

_ And as long as you know the truth in your heart, it should be enough. _ She thinks.

“I think we both can agree on the last part, but I have to discuss your demands with my men before I can make any promises. I am not sure if they would agree to some of the terms you have proposed.”

“You may have a point,  _ nephew _ . But do enlighten me, which ones, in particular, are contentious?” She pushes herself up the chair and strolls around the table. “None of these terms are negotiable and by offering me nothing but threats of war, you’re giving me cause to believe that you’re not here to help me,” she bats her eyes devoid of mirth, “you’re only here to use me and my resources. As much as I hate being manipulated, I hate Cersei Lannister and Euron Greyjoy more. That is why I have agreed to help you. Now all you need to do is convince your bannermen to accept my terms and we shall have a treaty on our hands.”

She can see his body steel uncomfortably in reaction to her words. “And oh, I will need you to bring back my ship and see to it that my crew remains unharmed. You see, having spent a great deal of my life on them, I have always loved ships and I’d be loath to part with Balerion. She has always been an amulet of luck for me and my armies. In return, I’ll ensure the fealty of the impregnable Vale of Arryn to you. As you must know, it’s another kingdom that only the dragons won for Aegon the Conqueror.” 

Pondering deeply, Aegon offers, “I can say it’s a lucrative offer, Your Grace, but you presume I know where the ship or its crew and its passengers might be.”

“It isn’t presumptuous at all. I think having remained cooped up in the South, with not much left to do while a war of survival was being fought in the North, you would have at least made allies in the Stormlands and Crownlands. After all, who would not want to ally themselves with the trueborn son of Rhaegar?“

Aegon smiles sadly and it’s almost heartbreaking to see the innocence of it. “It is not my intention to usurp your claim but the lords of the Stormlands and the Crownlands were more amenable to a male heir and unlike grandfather, Rhaegar Targaryen was well-loved and is still remembered fondly.”

“Yes, of course, truth be told, I’m a little tired and greatly unimpressed with being repeatedly reminded of my status as the mad king’s daughter! Makes me wish I was born with a cock and had no dragons. That would have taken away the taint of madness as it always does.”

“I did not intend to insult you. I was simply stating facts as brought to me by my advisors and my loyal bannermen.”

She ignores his words and turns towards Tyrion who resembles the undead of the North and the words seem to have frozen in his throat. “I have not received formal education as our Prince might have, but, Lord Tyrion, what can you tell us about the location where our ships were lost?”

“Umm, my queen,” Tyrion stutters but quickly regains his wits, “the  _ Dornish _ Prince has allies whose lands line the Narrow Sea. And our ships had been sailing north of the Celtigar Keep when  _ Balerion _ separated from the rest of the fleet.”

“Well, it’s settled then - you have friends who can help you find my ship. I haven’t received terms from King’s Landing which makes me question Cersei’s success in her own pursuits.” She allows the whiff of suspicion to hang in the air and watches them all squirm - her advisor and the prince alike. Greyworm’s grip tightens around the staff of his spear and Dany tosses him a look of cautious warning. 

“I was told you were not only beautiful but wise beyond your years. I think they did no justice to either your beauty or your wisdom.” says the young prince, looking impressed as well as vulnerable. “My men are looking after your crew and making arrangements to bring them safely to you without raising suspicions. The ship was damaged and strayed from its course during the storm, and its occupants were stranded. It took time because when the lands snowed in, most people thronged towards holdfasts and strongholds in search of warmth. They’re loyal dragon’s men up the Crackclaw peninsula, I have no doubt they will come through. If you wish, you can keep me your hostage until such time.”

Daenerys isn’t sure if she should rejoice at the news or grieve the trust this  _ Aegon _ has so easily won.  _ Valyrian, comely, with the name of valiant Rhaegar and mayhaps the King’s sword he succeeds in convincing people of being a true dragon before he ever steps foot on a battlefield.  _

“I have a favor to ask.” He adds.

“My dragons and kingdoms aren’t enough?”

“You jest at my expense.” He says looking away with a sigh of exhaustion. “I was not going to trouble you until I have delivered your people safely to you, but you see, the kingdoms don’t belong to House Targaryen  _ yet _ . I do not come to you as a beggar, I come in peace, as your kinsman, and with an army, to take back what was taken away from our House. Westeros is torn and bleeding, and a power-hungry queen rubs salt over its wounds. I have rallied our bannermen in the name of our House and shall soon raise the dragon standard of our forebearers. I admit, I cannot win this war without your aid. However, I can say the same for you. It is time we join our strengths and vanquish this queen of House Lannister and avenge the wrongs done to our family.” 

By the time the young contestant for the crown of Westeros finishes his speech, he finds Daenerys’ guarded expression has given way to tenderness in her eyes. “Queen Daenerys, I need a certain spider in your service. He has birds in every chamber of the Red Keep and is the only one alive who knows the secrets of the fortress. Besides, I want him to remain inside the city when we attack, bring as many people to our side as he can. You will agree that the city must be taken without avoidable bloodshed.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Lord Varys, you betrayed me. You betrayed Jon’s secret to this Prince. Why?”

“I did not, my queen. You have no proof of it.”

“I can get proof, not that I need it now.”

“I will lie. And it will be under duress. If you wish to punish me, I’m here, head bowed and ready to accept my Queen’s justice.”

Daenerys leans closer to the spider’s ear “Warn your masters that if any harm comes to Jon, if he dies of anything except old age, I will burn down not only the North but every castle and keep in their kingdom as well. And I will bring them a war so great, they would wish the Night King had lived.”


	4. Dany the Dreamer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion and Dany talk to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you rightly commented that Dany would not support (f)Aegon and just give away the throne. And I agree. It won't happen in the books, it wouldn't have happened on the show either. How else can they bring her down? Dany HAD/HAS TO burn King's Landing and fight until the last man standing to get that throne so that her fate is justified and a god-king can be installed on the throne.
> 
> This was supposed to be a Jon chapter but I think Dany needed to be more vocal about why she choose to help Aegon/Griff/fAegon. 
> 
> I'm grateful to everyone who reads and comments on the story. Nothing motivates a writer more than readers' constructive feedback. I apologize for the delay in updates. I'm trying but my health is not behaving. :D
> 
> This chapter and this story are dedicated to iia. She is not just my beta, she makes this story so much more than it was supposed to be. She's the soul of it!

“It’s not too late, take him your hostage and do not permit him to leave Dragonstone.”

“Perhaps I should. Perhaps I should burn Varys as promised for betraying me. Perhaps I should take your head too for spreading the word about Jon’s parentage, for being foolish enough to trust your former wife. I wonder what was it about you that I chose you for my advisor.”

“Certainly, it can’t be my good looks. But you did see some value in keeping me around.” He says feeling the hurt and shame in his chest. “Don’t be fooled, Daenerys. This _ prince _ , whatever he is, he isn’t Aegon Targaryen. He could have colored his hair in any color, could have worn something that didn’t scream _ Valyria _ and _ Essos _ . He could have come with his silver hair and purple eyes, same as that Rhoynar, Darkstar, but he wanted _ you _ to think that he might be your kin and he wanted _ you _ to be the one to bring it up. Thanks to Varys, he knew your weakness when it came to your kinsmen and your House!”

“He requested me to bring him to Drogon and Rhaegal. My children didn’t hate him.” She blinks away, pretending she hasn’t really heard Tyrion’s words.

“The dragons don’t hate me either. Mayhaps I should color my hair silver and you could grant me a kingdom?” He frowns. “Have you heard about your ancestor, Aerion?”

Dany tilts her head to think. “Brightflame? And is this another story about the _ mad _ Targaryens?”

“Yes. I mean, no. No.” Tyrion paces the room with urgency. “Aerion Brightflame spent a few years of his life in Lys. And the Targaryens are known for their.. umm.. passion in the .. you know...” Tyrion gestures obscenely forcing Dany to look away in disappointment with her Hand. “My point is, it is widely believed that he may have fathered a few bastards there, which would mean you have _ kinsmen _ of a sort in Lys... but they would be very distant relatives, from the _ wrong _ side of the blanket. And you already know there was an entire Blackfyre line that made Essos it’s home and even if the sons of the Blackfyres were wiped out, nothing was ever said about their daughters. They _ too _ are no true kinsmen of yours! Your Targaryen ancestors were forced to fight against them all those years ago, to keep them from claiming the Seven Kingdoms and annihilating your line.“

“What is your point, Tyrion?”

“You don’t owe him anything and you don’t need him to win the Iron Throne. You don’t have to give up on your dream. Send for Daario and the Stormcrows, for the Second Sons, for any other sellsword company he can buy. Bring them to Westeros. Send for the North! They’re NOT independent, they live off the aid you send, you saved them and their k…warden. Ask them if honor means the same thing to them as to you. You honored your word, defeated the Others and protected them and their homeland, it’s time they reciprocated.”

“You have dragons. Not one but two. Commit to the blockade of King’s Landing. Grant me permission to treat with Cersei. She will hear reason and you will have the Iron Throne before this pretender can.”

“You are a bigger fool than I have imagined if you really think your sister is a woman who listens to the voice of reason!”

“I have to try, for the people. They have suffered enough under my family’s brutal rule. If not, you attack King’s Landing. Same as this pretender has planned. But YOU sit the Iron Throne and not him.”

“You suggest I go back on my word and betray him?”

“It’s not betrayal if you asked him to prove if he’s truly Rhaegar’s son. We will rally enough Lords who will agree with you and demand the same.”

“What of his armies? The Dornish, Stromlanders, the Golden company, even the families of Valyrian blood trust him! Dragons are good for conquest, Tyrion, but not for ruling. I will need people and I don’t have them. I will never have Dorne. I will not have the Stormlands, not even with Gendry whose mother was just a lowborn that caught Robert’s ever-wandering eye , making Gendry a lowborn as well. These are the same men who stood with Robert’s highborn bastard against a trueborn Baratheon, Stannis. And now that highborn bastard has lend his allegiance to this _ Prince _. The Targaryen loyalists have chosen too. They believe he’s Rhaegar’s son and if I stand against him, they will see it as another Dance of the Dragons.” 

“The Crownlands chose because _ we _ failed you. I failed you. Once they see real dragons in flight, trust me, their lives will change. There’s no sight more beautiful and no song more melodious than the cry of dragons.”

“Yes, I don’t doubt you failed me. But I’m not blind either. Should I flaunt my dragons because perhaps the news of their birth and arrival on Dragonstone hasn’t reached them yet? Then I wait for the North to answer; could be moons by the time your wife is done playing her games and their army arrives, if it does at all. Same as Daario and the sellswords. And with my Unsullied and the Dothraki, I will be seen fighting against the Westerosi with an Essosi army.”

“The Golden Company is Essosi!” Tyrion repudiates.

“Is it? Is that what you think when you hear their name? _ A company of exiled Westerosi,, made of valiant knights and sons born to Westerosi fathers and mothers, united by a dream of home. _ Does that sound like an army of foreign savages to you?”

“Your Grace, don’t you see, by doing nothing, you’re giving legitimacy to this...” Tyrion clenches his teeth in frustration “_ Aegon _!”

“At least this _ Aegon _ or whoever he is, is willing to accept the name!”

“Make me the King and I will gladly call myself Moon Boy’s personal jester if you commanded! Who wouldn’t accept the name if it fetches them a kingdom on a platter?”

“You want to know _ who _ wouldn’t?” she asks furiously, almost showing her hurt. 

“I…” Tyrion begins and then reflects on Jon. “Jon didn’t know how to be a Targaryen. He was a nameless boy who only wished for approval, who longed to belong somewhere.”

_ Home. _ Dany thinks. _ He too has been searching for his home all his life. _

“He learned to wear his bastardy like an armor else he would not have survived the world he was sent to. But you were born into this name, you have no excuses to shun your destiny.”

Dany tsks, remembering her last exchange with Jon. She smiles sadly because she knows better. She knows and she remembers Jon’s many words, words spoken in the din of stolen moments when they talked about their lives. _I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them all. All those who have harmed you in the past and those who dared stand in your path._ As fate would have it, when the time came, he was the one to twist a knife in her heart and leave it there. Jon didn’t have to _learn_ to be a Targaryen; he was a dragon at heart - ruthless, brave, passionate, but also-- cruel. For who else could have loved a dragon and left a dagger in her heart. _We reserve our cruelty for our own kind more often than not._

She fears she’s on the cusp of losing her mind when she again reflects over Tyrion’s words.

She reflects on all she was and everything she couldn’t be. A queen of her people in the East and here, a queen of the Seven Kingdoms in name only. 

“Do you think when I lost my people at sea and with more of them gone missing, I don’t feel the urge to fly to the Red Keep and burn it down with Cersei and the vile men she has gathered around herself? You think I don’t want to vanquish all those who rose against my family and chased me to the ends of the earth for the grave _ sin _ of being a Targaryen? You think I don’t resent losing so much for a kingdom that, in the end, refused to recognize the sacrifice of my dragon and my armies?”

Tyrion looks at her with understanding, and he sees himself fighting at the Blackwater, defending King’s Landing from Stannis’ attack. What he received as gratitude were scorn and a death sentence. The world was not fair and the real heroes didn’t always get their due. Even hard-earned laurels can’t be gained without a fight. 

“You know, when you were on the sea, I met the widows of the slain men, the children who are orphaned, the families that were broken under my watch. I swore to them that I will protect them. Tell me, Tyrion, how do I go back and tell my people that I will sacrifice more of them, until the last man standing if need be, if that is what it took for me to win the throne of Westeros? All my titles, my accomplishments and victories, my riches and all of my power, nothing has ever filled the hole inside me that my Rhaego and countless others have left. Do you think the Iron Throne will fill that hole in my heart? It ends here! It has to! There no longer exists a threat or a cause great enough for my people to sacrifice their lives for and I refuse to lose any more of them to these mindless wars. What you call destiny, I call it purpose. My purpose can’t just be a throne of bent and twisted swords. My purpose is to make the world a better place and it does not have to be built on the bones of my people.”

“I have nothing to prove to this world and I no longer fear being forgotten in the sands of time. Generations later, when dragons take to the skies, for as long as they take to the skies, the people will remember who brought them into this world and they will remember the story of Daenerys Targaryen. I refuse to become an ember that burned too bright before fading away. I AM the fire and I don’t need candles to shine my path. Westeros is no longer a far-off land that I saw glimpses of in my dreams, the land I was supposed to liberate, the land that I thought belonged to the dragons. I realize my power, Tyrion. It's absolute and it’s terrifying. I _ can _ conquer Westeros if I wished. Both the North and the South and any lands that exist beyond and below it. And then what?”

“Then you rule.” Tyrion says, feeling truly dwarfed and bared in front of the mighty Queen who stands before her.

“I intend to do that. But not the world or even Westeros. Westeros does not think it needs me and I will respect that. _ I have to. _ I will take what is absolutely necessary for my people, those who followed me through thick and thin, and not more. My people deserve to lead a life of dignity. And the world ought to know about the sacrifices they’ve made to save it. I want them to be important enough, to be heard, to be able to tell their own stories to the world. Stories in which they’ll not called pillaging savages and eunuchs incapable of feeling pain but the Last Heroes, who fought for life against death when others refused.”

“I don’t know many stories, Tyrion. Between running for life, scurrying for food and being mauled by Viserys and other men, there was never a time for stories that had happy endings. But I learned a thing or two about life and I learned the stories of my ancestors. Do you remember Rhaenyra?”

“The queen who wasn’t!” Tyrion sighs, pouring them both goblets of wine.

“Oh, but she was! Even if for a time. She was the Queen and the Iron Throne rejected her; they say. It cut her and she bled crimson as everything that was dear to her was snatched away from her.” Dany says, accepting the wine from Tyrion’s hands and placing it on the floor, next to her.

“Ah, yes. _ Her brother offered her an honorable peace, and the whore spat in his face. What happened was on her own head. _ Isn’t this what everyone says about her? Do you fear her fate? That she was turned to ash by her own brother, Aegon? Daenerys Stormborn, you’re the unburnt and this Aegon,” he says with disdain, “is no dragon!”

“Mayhaps not. Does it matter though? I fear no fires or dragons; neither did Rhaenyra. It was not the dragons that defeated her. She thought it was her fate to fight for what was indeed, rightfully hers. She was once a beloved Princess. The Realm’s Delight, they called her. It is said that she hated her last days on Dragonstone, cursing at her last child to leave her womb with haste as the dark clouds of war gathered around her. She won her crown, but it never sat easy on her head. Tyrion, she failed eventually, but not on the battlefield! It’s the loss of the loved ones that truly kills a person. Do you think if she knew the price she was going to pay for the damned throne, she would have wanted it? Would she not have traded it for a life of peace, quiet, and love?”

“I wouldn’t know. My family has never given me cause to give up anything for them. But this I know - people love stories. Especially the stories that make them forget how wretched and meaningless their lives are. Who has a better story than a dragon-riding queen? You could have fulfilled the dream of reclaiming your ancestral kingdoms and yet, you are choosing to squander a crown. Tell me, for what?”

“For life.”

“I’ve seen enough deaths for many lifetimes, Tyrion. I’ve fought too many wars, shed too much blood, sacrificed too much to come this far. This needs to stop. I want to build a life, a home for my … for myself and my people. You once said my stubbornness and idealism combined with unprecedented power made me a worthy conqueror but it also made me an unfit ruler. I cannot compromise on my principles; I'm not a politician. I see the error of my ways. I cannot always bring _ fire and blood _ to my enemies in the name of those I wish to liberate. I will bring them freedom and they will see only chaos it will wreak. Now on, I refuse to let my people die for those who do not see the chains that shackle them. For those who do not wish to be liberated, I can’t take their choice away from them. Let them live in their old world but I will build a new one for those who will follow me. I will build a kingdom for my people and it shall be a beacon of hope and aspiration. Let everyone who isn’t with us question their rulers... and when enough people will ask questions, the spokes of the wheel will weaken and shake. I will give power to where it should truly belong... in the hands of those who never had it, those crushed beneath the wheel. _ Fire and Blood _, those are the words of my House, but I have to be different because House Targaryen too is a spoke in that wheel.”

Daenerys stands up full height, this dainty woman, beautiful beyond words, she seems taller than any woman or any king or knight Tyrion has ever met. “I’m the blood of old Valyria, my ancestors knew not only how to destroy but how to create as well, and I intend to make them proud. I wish to govern a kingdom whose towns are the pinnacle of civilization. It is my desire to build the most successful trading ports in the Seven Kingdoms and Essos. My peasants won’t go hungry and their children’s childhood won’t end with their birth. A kingdom where every bastard boy and every girl who cannot count till twenty will be able to lead their lives with dignity.”

“It’s a beautiful dream. What is it that you desire just for yourself? What is your selfish desire in all of this?”

“_ Home. _ Same as you, same as Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan, same as the Dothraki, the Unsullied. We’re exiles and wanderers, what else will we want but home.”

“I don’t need home. I could have helped you become a Queen and lived a life of luxury in King’s Landing.” Tyrion quips.

“You could have stayed in Meereen. It’s richer, more opulent than King’s Landing can ever be.”

“Meereen is not…”

“Richer? Luxurious? _ Home _?” Dany smiles, a gentle curve of lips and eyes full of understanding and sadness.

“Alright. You win, only because I’m in my cups. Where’s _ your _ home?”

“This,“ she says, “this can be my home. This is home to my dragons, home to the many families that are broken on my account. This is where I was born and where my ashes will rest.” She admits looking around the large cavernous chamber.

“_ Can _be your home? You still didn’t say where your home _is_.”

_ Her home is not made of wood and stones. _

Dany’s eyes brim with tears and it is then Tyrion observes closely and blinks in acquiescence as his eyes rove between the untouched glass of wine and her hand cradling her middle. And he understands. “You’re with child!” 

“Does _ he _ know?” he then asks with a sullen quietness in his voice.

“No, he doesn’t.”

“He would want to know.” Tyrion admits even though the words taste sour on his tongue.

“I’m not so certain.” she speaks plainly, absentmindedly playing with her mother’s ring on her finger.

“I don’t know much about _ him _, but I’d want to know if I were a father…” Tyrion mutters before pouring himself a drink that he swallows with urgency and is ready to pour more for himself. “Or perhaps I already am. I mean, the whores won’t exactly know unless what comes from them is a demon monkey. In that case they’d want to find me for money or something or to...”

“Tyrion,” Dany says softly, “Shut up.”

“Ah yes. Of course. So, you’re … are you sure? I mean, you said you were barren.” He mumbles incoherently.

“Must you remind me?”

A plethora of emotions explodes inside him. A sense of relief - her kingdom will have an heir and that’s one less thing to worry about, joy – he’s happy for the woman who has forever longed for a family, at least she will have a babe of her own, and a feeling he has been hiding for many moons – love.

“So, a trueborn Targaryen confined to the North, puts a bastard in the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Only if someone could steal Blackfyre from this Aegon, your future child can lure the Golden Company to his side with _ this _ story.” Tyrion blurts in that cacophony of muddled thoughts and unbridled emotions and regrets it almost immediately. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I’m truly happy for you.”

“I know. And I know what my child will be called. That is what we will stand for - a more compassionate world, not just for my child but for many others who have no control over the circumstances of their birth.”

“Or you could do it the old way, take the tongues of those whose words you mislike. Not mine of course, without it, I’m not much use.” 

“If I take a man’s tongue, it will only prove that I feared he might speak the truth.”

Her words are a poignant reminder of the more peaceful days of yore when they could just talk like two children trying hard to leave the shadows of their evil fathers. In the moment, Tyrion wants to tell her, confess his feelings. But he’s a clever man and he knows that in doing so, he will only burn the bridge between them. Instead, he japes, as always. “Are you trying to pass _ my _ words of wisdom as your own?”

“Tyrion,” Dany pleads, wiping her eyes with the back of her thumb, “you're a piece of my past, of the woman I once was - naive, idealistic, reckless, a dreamer. Don’t ever let me forget her....”

“I won’t.” he promises.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I love her too. Not as successfully as you did." 
> 
> Yeah, it's been alluded to since s6 when Dany declares him Hand of the Queen and then again in s7 when Tyrion stood like a creep outside her cabin.
> 
> I have no personal preferences in it but I could see Tyrion falling in love with Dany. So, it's not something I just borrowed from the show and went with it. Also, I don't hate Tyrion and it's not really about redemption. Tyrion is not perfect. Far from it. But he deserved better. It's not easy if you have to live with the likes of Tywin and Cersei & that too, with them hating your guts.
> 
> ADWD was a book that's a graveyard for all our favs because apparently, bird boy must become king. It's a book in which almost everyone has lost any agency they had. So, I can understand if you're a book reader, you still might hate Tyrion and probably wish that he died in his own puke. But perhaps rewatching season 4 can change your mind? And you can see how OOC Tyrion has been these past seasons? 
> 
> Next chapter, we wind up the battle for King's Landing and move North.


	5. Ashes and Cinders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The faces of innocents would not leave her mind. They died as they had lived - in fear, begging the cruel gods for mercy and a chance for them to survive, while those in power played the game of thrones.
> 
>   
_Fire and Blood. Ashes and Cinders._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, iia for everything you do which also includes rewriting a large part of my work. 
> 
> All mistakes are mine.

**Ashes and Cinders**

  
  
  


“Queen Yara, it is so good to see you. I’m grateful for your support.”

“It is my honor, Your Grace.” Yara replies breaking away from the strong embrace of each other’s arms.

“You look well.”

“So do you.” Yara replies smilingly.

“I’m sorry about Theon. I should tell you that he fought bravely until the very end.”

“I knew he would. He was...”

“Valiant! He was an excellent marksman and fought fiercely to protect Lord Stark. His sacrifice will always be remembered not only in the North but here in Dragonstone as well.” Daenerys lances her head high as she finishes the sentence and Yara nods in fierce pride.

“Thank you. Your words bring warmth and pride to a sister’s heart, my Queen.” Yara breathes deeply, sucking the salty air into her lungs as they walk away from their courtiers.

“Who are these people?” Yara whispers.

Dany turns to look back, to make sure they’re far away from her court’s ears. “My lord Hand is finding new ways to brighten up this castle. These are the lords and ladies from the Crownlands, our new Prince’s people. Tyrion convinced their lord fathers and husbands that they’d be safer away from the capital. Most of them didn’t want to send their daughters and spares to Sunspear, so they’re here.”

“I see. So these people distrust their king and much rather have their loved ones sent to live with a  _ foreign _ queen?” Yara laughs loudly at the irony.

“No, perhaps not. I think the people here have a strong sense of us versus them. They don’t trust the Dornish I am told. Or, I could say they mistrust the Dornish more than they mistrust me.” Dany grimaces, her shoulders dropping at the stubborn standoffishness and stagnation of mind that plagues her ancestors’ lands.

“A rather bold move from someone who stayed your hand when you had all the power to take down Cersei and whoever else stood in your way. He should consider himself lucky that his head isn’t rotting away on a pike! But I think he’s trying to prove a point. ”

“You think?” It's Dany’s turn to laugh now and they stroll towards the Hall. “He believes he can be a poet; narrate the songs of the Mad King’s daughter’s benevolence and at the same time remind the lords who the true heir to the throne is.”

“I suppose it is rather forward of me, but I’d still ask if you have found someone worthy to be your consort?”

“Why?” Yara’s eyes amusedly jolt at Dany’s. “Most people marry for love or for children. I don’t need either as long as I have my dirk and my axe!” 

“What about your heir?”

“Piss on it! The ironmen will call the kingsmoot when the time comes, it has always been our way! I hope they will choose a woman to lead them, men are nothing but a disappointment. Speaking of, very few of my ironmen made it back to the Iron Islands after the Great War and some of the things they said were…  _ mad _ ! Tell me, what happened in the North and who the fuck is this  _ Prince _ ? I keep hearing stories about how you kept him hidden. Some say you were once married to him others believe that you will wed him once the throne is won. Seven bloody hells, each tale is more outrageous than the other!”

“Outrageous does not even begin to describe the events that have come to pass, Yara. Come, we’ll discuss all of this and more over supper.” Dany swallows.

Food, ale and sweet pear nectar flow freely as the two women exchange tales of the lives they have lived since their last stay on the island, of all that has come to pass. When the servants begin to clear the plates, Yara shakes her head and tightly clutches the pitcher of ale. “What? This could be my last night in this dreary world! I want to die with a belly full of ale!”

“Yara,” Dany leans and curls her hand around Yara’s “You don’t have to fight. Euron will die either way tomorrow, he has to pay for everything he has done. If you don’t want to risk yourself or your people, I will understand.” Daenerys forewarns gently.

“I took the Iron Islands in your name and you gave them back to me. I once gave you my word and it doesn’t mean nothing. Besides, we are here because this is what we all want! My uncle has to answer for his crimes against the ironborn as well as those now sworn to you. The people of Shield Island and those living up the Mander were tortured and humiliated by that monster. Not many of them live to tell the grisly tales, Your Grace, but what he has done is beyond brutal.”

“So I’ve been told.” Dany clenches her teeth and bites the inside of her cheek so hard, she can taste blood on her tongue.

“Cersei still has a large army.” Yara speaks hoarsely, clearing her throat that’s been charred from the ale.

“She does. Between the Lannister army, goldcloaks, squires and knights from Highgarden and Riverlands, Euron’s pirates, foot soldiers, lords at her court, and sellsword companies, she has more than forty thousand men inside the city alone.”

“Euron’s men are too undisciplined to take orders from anyone. I can bet those sword-swallowers will be on the ships. He knows we are here, to fuck him in the arse!”

“Excellent! I intend to set the majority of his fleet on fire before taking out Cersei’s ballistae and trebuchets along the city walls. Drogon and I will destroy the siege defenses to give the Golden Company their chance. The Prince’s army will ram the King’s Gate to enter into the city.”

Yara’s eyes bear down on her quizzingly, “You sure, Dragon Queen, you don’t intend to fuck up that  _ Prince  _ ?” she smacks her lips to mock the title. “I’ve an uncle to quarter and it would be a pleasure if I could foil some well-laid plans while I’m at it!”

Dany lets Yara’s words hang in the air for brief moments and her stomach knots as she reflects on her life; beginning with the day she was born and hounded out of her own home and through the streets of the free cities. Her thoughts wander to those passing moments when she felt so exhilaratingly powerful, almost invincible. But that is washed out by the despair she encountered whence things again started to slip away from her; beginning with Viserion’s sacrifice, the near decimation of her vast armies in a fight for the thankless, to the fleeting moments of love and all that is left to her to remind her of the father of her unborn child, to the day they parted ways. 

“Yes, I’m quite sure.” Daenerys smiles, herself amazed at how years of grief and losses didn’t turn into an inferno that could have taken a life of its own and burned everything in its path.

“There’s the matter of hostages.”

Dany questioningly raises her brow at Yara.

“Northerners. What do you suppose we should do with them? They can be useful.” Yara gives the details about the hostages the ironborn had taken when they attacked the North during the War of the Five Kings. She found them alive in the dungeons of Iron Islands when she re-took her father’s seat from Euron’s henchmen.

“Release them, Yara. Unless they have brought you harm, sending them home will only serve to bring more goodwill between your kingdom and theirs’.” Dany advises after listening carefully.

“I’d trade fucking goodwill for the trees and black soil of Stony Shore and Sea Dragon Point any day.” Yara frowns, mouth twisting like an angry child’s.

“If you must. You’re the Queen.” Dany says cautiously.

“And then…. we can fuck up the North! Together!” Yara slurs, ale getting to her head for good measure.

“Must you.. fuck up someone?” Dany laughs boldly, incapable of keeping a straight face.

“We Do Not Sow.” Yara articulates in a booming voice and stares at Dany. “..you look funny when you’re confused.” she then sniggers.

“Clearly, you’ve had a lot already!” says Dany, taking the horn of ale away from Yara and instructing the servants to bring mint tea for herself and her valued guest.

“Those are our House words, Queen Dannyrr.. Dany. You know why? Of course, you won’t; nobody cares for the rapers and pillagers unless we hit their towns and villages. And then they come out full force to swat us like flies, tell us we mustun.. must not! Those are our words because you  **can’t** fucking sow anything on our islands! So what were we supposed to do? Beg for food? The Iron Islands are stern and stony places. We stare into the face of death every day and life is a cruel mistress to us; even her affections are mean and meager. Do you know what is our favorite pastime? We drink ale and argue over who has the worst of it - the fisherfolk who fight the sea or the farmers who try and scratch a crop from the poor thin soil! What were we supposed to do but raid your towns and cities when we have no other prospects? What are we supposed to do when our children starve before our eyes?”

Dany’s eyes sting at Yara’s honest words. She understands first-hand what starvation feels like and what it means to scrounge the earth till your hands and feet are scarred and blistered. She speaks firmly but gently, as if she were talking to an upset child, “Those poor villagers, whom you ravage for food, they did not bring that fate on you. More often than not, their lives may not be much better than yours. I promise we will come up with ways that will prove fruitful and sustainable. I wish to build trading ports and your people have the skill to work the logs. Surely, we can discover other means that benefit our people and come to an agreement?”

“Or.. we could just..” Yara presses her lips in a straight line and Dany humorously scratches her forehead in defeat.

“We will think of something, I promise. We will leave the world a better place than we inherited. We have to! For our people.” 

Yara nods and looks away before Dany can catch a glimpse of tears in her green eyes. “It’s late, Your Grace, on the morrow I’ve an uncle to bugger with my axe and I need to look pretty for it!”

Dany wants to be strong when she bids farewell but the past has made her a skeptic. Unable to keep her fears at bay she says, “Yara, come back safely. If things don’t seem to go your way, choose life.”

“Where’s the honor in that?” 

“Your honor will not end your people’s miseries, it won’t help change their fate. Your life might! I wish you good luck, Queen Yara. And remember, pragmatic retreat is not cowardice. Live to fight another day!”

  
  


*~*~*

This is the tenth letter she is writing, the first nine are ashes in the hearth.

  
  


_ My dear Jon, _

_ I have not many regrets in life, but if I could, I would go back in time and tell you this - a bastard's love is everything, its worth - more than the combined riches of the world. _

_ Rule wisely, Aegon Targaryen. And when you look towards the future, leave the bastard behind and let the King be reborn. My people and my kingdom will be yours by my will. Honor your ancestors, may their hearts swell in pride upon seeing how far you have come. I know I will always be proud of you. _

_ Yours, _

_ Daenerys _

_ _

_ Will you remember me, Jon or have you already forgotten? S _ he asks herself, with the feather of the quill soaked in tears and kissing her cheeks. She seals the letter in the blood-red wax, embossed with the three dragons of her House.

  
  
  


"Lord Tyrion, as your queen, it is my wish that when the time comes, you do right by our people and do everything in your power in order to protect them. Now and always.”

“Your will is my command, my queen.” Tyrion pledges.

“And if I don't return, make sure this letter reaches Jon along with the decree of ascension to the throne of Dragonstone." she says handing the scroll to him.

"I shall not hear of it. If anything happens to you, we are all lost!" he outrages.

“No, you wouldn't be lost! You have to remain strong, for the people! You shall have the support of Queen Yara Greyjoy, the North, my armies, two Dragons and a dragonrider with a claim!”

“Have you told him about your  _ condition _ ?”

“No, if I'm gone, it’s neither here nor there. Go on, my lord. There's still work to be done."

As Tyrion stands in the doorway and looks at his queen for one last time before she rides into the battle, he casts a shadow long enough to touch the edges of her feet even though she stands yards away from him.

"I wish you good fortune in the war, Your Grace."

  
  


*~*~*

  
  


Dany begins her campaign by wrecking Euron’s fleet. She approaches his ships from high above the clouds, letting Drogon’s instincts lead them both, and when the fleet is directly below her, she flies from the sun and rains fire at their back. Drogon’s fire is all-consuming, setting more than one ship aflame with its first blast, and then they swerve flying low on the ships’ sides and blazing the right flank of Euron’s fleet. Everything burns – the ships, their sails, cloth banners, weapons and men alike. Fire does not distinguish. Even the water seemed to have come alive like a geyser under the heat of Drogon’s fire and the air is filled with a hot, deadly mist of dragon breath. With the rearguard wrecked and exposed and the frontline in disarray, Dany leaves them to the wrath of the approaching ironmen led by their queen, Yara Greyjoy.

The moment she flies away from the sea and sets her eyes on her next target, there’s an urge inside her - to avenge, to fly towards the Red Keep and burn Cersei, her bidders and everything it represented. She had once dreamed of ruling the seven kingdoms from here, considered it her home, but it proved to be nothing but a symbol of greed and lust for power. The Keep had stood mute in the face of atrocities, and this seat of the might of Westeros hadn’t risen when all humanity was threatened; it left the people to suffer their fate. Dany startles and turns her eyes away as a bolt nearly brushes against Drogon’s hide.  _ Dracarys, _ she commands and Drogon’s fire dowses the large crossbow in fire. Then the second and the third until every scorpion and ballistae in sight is destroyed and the walls of the city are engulfed in flames. Men give up their spears and bows, and jump to their deaths and those who don’t, they burn.  _ They’re guilty, they are the enemy, _ she tells herself.  _ She has to. _

When the wall defenses are cleared, she flies with Drogon towards the arrayed Golden Company, glittering in the sun, a sharp contrast to the misery of the city and of those on the other side of those walls. 

Drogon lands in the large clearing between the King’s Gate and the Prince’s vast host. He looks resplendent in his black armor with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen decorated in rubies on his breastplate. He commands his men to stand back as he approaches the dragon on his night-black warhorse and is joined by a lone commander, seated on his destrier, whose white cloak resembles that of her once Queenguard commander, Ser Barristan.

“The people of King’s Landing have suffered enough, Prince Griff. Make sure your army does not pillage and loot once the city is taken.” Daenerys cautions.

“I’m not a Lannister,” The Prince spits on the ground and draws his Valyrian steel sword with loud cheers of “for House Targaryen”, “for Dorne”, “for Elia” heard all around them.

Daenerys is startled and twists in surprise in her seat as the bells start pealing loudly in the distance. She cannot believe that they have won a great victory without much bloodshed but is relieved beyond words nonetheless.

“The bells are tolling, the city has surrendered!” she says turning her eyes back towards the Prince and his men.

The commander with a steel helm that covers most of his face, griffins on his shield and the three-headed dragon on his armor, urges his horse forward. “The bells are treacherous, Princess. Seventeen years had come and gone since the Battle of the Bells, yet the sound of bells ringing still ties a knot in my guts. The bells tolled for all of us that day in Stoney Sept. For Aerys and his queen, for Elia of Dorne and her little daughter, for every true man and honest woman in the Seven Kingdoms. And for my silver prince.” The past seems a palpable weight on the shoulders of the proud commander as he adjusts himself to sit straighter on his steed. 

“Lord Varys informed us that Cersei wants to fight this battle from house to house, her men are clad as commoners, ready to swoop on us! I will not repeat my folly. I wanted the glory of slaying Robert in single combat, and I did not want the name of butcher. So, Robert escaped me and cut down Rhaegar on the Trident. Not today. I shall not risk another loss, I cannot lose this battle. The bells will not toll for my Prince’s heir, they will toll for everyone who stands in his path!”

“Who are you?” She wonders aghast.

“A ghost, a misshapen relic of your House’s glorious past.” He wipes his shimmering eyes and shakes his head apologetically. “You look so much like your brother. Varys did not tell me this.” 

Dany’s voice abandons her, and she gropes for words. Before she can ask what the lord meant, the ground under her shakes and a large part of the city goes up in green flames. The conflagration is so vast, it is hard to imagine anyone could survive; neither the queen nor the lords and ladies, neither the common folk nor their animals. Her eyes burn with tears and the thought of those dying excruciatingly painful deaths or struggling to escape shake her to the core.

“What have you done? Help them… command your men to fetch water from the sea, do something, don’t just stand there! Aegon!” She calls him for the first time as he looks stunned beyond belief, “Look at me, you don’t want to be the king of ashes!” She screams but finds herself frozen, shaken and worried for the life she’s been hiding in her womb. 

“Move or I will burn you and your men right where you stand!” she threatens.

“I can’t. I cannot send my men near  _ that! _ They... they will burn.” The young prince stammers, himself taken aback at the horror unfolding before his eyes.

_ Run Daenerys, run! Don’t look back! _ A voice inside her head whispers to her; an instinct she has learned well to pay heed to. And yet, she cannot abandon the innocents. Not while she lives. She turns her attention away from the prince;  _ there is no use to argue _ .

“You!” Dany commands the man in Targaryen armor, “Bring down the gates, now! Else the people will never forgive your little Prince!  ** _I_ ** will not forgive your prince!” her voice booms.

“It’s the mad queen, she has burnt the city!” The man’s words sound sincere enough to Daenerys’ ears as the commander turns to his shock stricken  _ King _ and hesitantly blows a horn. The battering party slowly makes its way towards the city gate. Dany keeps her eyes on the ground but does not know if an arrow will come from Cersei’s army or from the men in front of her. 

She takes one last look at the Prince who looks like a broken young man with little and less experience with the woes of the world.  _ He did not expect this to be so brutal, _ she realizes.

Clinging tightly to Drogon, she urges him higher and away from the scene, tears streaming down her cheeks as she witnesses the sheer horror - the sounds of dying animals and humans alike, the stench of sulphur, the tall dancing black flames of Drogon’s fire on the walls surrounding in stark contrast the lurid green inferno created by wildfire. And as she is eastbound, flying swiftly towards the salty mist of the Blackwater, she sees what’s left of the Red Keep – it’s a charred, black ruin. 

_ Fire and blood. Ashes and cinders. _

  
  


*~*~*

  
  
  


“I could no longer tell between the screams of the enemies and those of the innocents, couldn’t tell the charred bones of the men from those of the beasts.” She says hauntingly.

“It was war; wars are ugly and are bound to leave you with blood on your hands. You can’t always protect the innocents and you cannot dwell on it forever. It has been three days and smoke can still be seen from here. Before the dust settles, you will have tough choices to make.”

Dany swallows the lump in her throat. “Any word from Yara? Is she safe?”

“She blinded and tied Euron to the prow of her fastest ship because she didn’t want him to die of affliction before he faced the ironborn justice. It seemed a bit…”

“Cruel? Yes. But nothing compared to what he has done to his captives.”

“I was going to say - unnecessary.” Tyrion brushes off. “The more important matter here is that of the perceptions. We cannot have people think that you burnt King’s Landing. That would be political suicide.”

“I did not burn the city!” Dany rages and yet her eyes are filled with regret. “For a horrible moment I even thought, I did. But that is not true. I don’t know how it happened, one heartbeat I was rejoicing the bloodless win and in the very next, everything turned to ashes.”

“We don’t know who is responsible and we are certainly not accusing anyone of anything, yet, but you are definitely blameless in this.” Tyrion insists.

“No one could have packed the city with so much wildfire except Cersei. You were right, she warned us that she was not above sacrificing innocents but I never understood she could murder so many of her own people, even the lords who swore allegiance to her.”

“It does not add up. Why would she burn the city before her enemies had even entered through the gates?”

“I have thought of it.”

“And?”

Daenerys shakes her head in response. “Who would burn down a city they intend to rule, and hundreds of thousands within it?”

“Anyone who was out of their minds would do it! Cersei would have done it, she  _ has _ done it with the sept of Baelor! But  _ this _ couldn’t have been Cersei’s work alone. And only someone who would NOT be blamed for setting the fire could really benefit from it. Cersei had her wildfire and you have dragons, in the eyes of many you would be the first to blame.”

When Daenerys does not respond, Tyrion continues. “I’ve sent a raven to our  _ beloved _ Prince informing him that you are grief-stricken and injured as you were hit by an arrow while trying to save the people from wildfire and his own troops’ inaction.”

“That is not what happened. The wounds of my flesh are mere cuts and bruises as I was struck by debris and splinters,  _ not _ arrows.”

Tyrion protests. “That’s exactly what happened! You  _ could _ have been injured or worse! The kings and queens don’t abide by the same rules as everyone else. Even the gods must think twice before questioning a true dragon, isn’t it?”

“Lord Tyrion, it is done. The idea of unified seven kingdoms is no longer reality. And how many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want the throne of Westeros! Your games will only push him to the wall and he will end up attempting something foolish.”

Regardless of her agitation, Tyrion remains calm. “Yes, you don’t want the throne. I heard you the first time and after the third or fourth time, I respected your wishes. But you have to be stupid,  _ Your Grace, _ to not be able to see what is happening here. The blame for the destruction of the city will fall on Cersei and the daughter of the Mad King, while this Prince’s reputation remains unblemished.”

Dany feared as much but assumed she was only seeing the daggers in the dark because she is still shocked at the enormousness of what she witnessed. And to blame the young claimant to the throne for the wildfire would mean she killed those innocents as much as he or Cersei did. She was the one who helped him win, she was the one who trusted him with the city that now lay in a smoldering smoking ruin. She stares at the now darkened lines of her hand, reminding her of the palm-readers in the markets of Vaes Dothrak, and wonders which accursed gods wrote her destiny. Because no matter how much she tried, the ghost of her father’s madness always chased her.

She observes Tyrion carefully, as if trying to read his mind, “I suppose you still haven’t sent that raven that you just claimed to have sent?”

“No, I haven’t. I needed to ask you first.” 

“I agree with your assessment, my Lord. I’m indeed  _ hurt _ and mourning the loss of innocent lives. Do remind the new king that it is my wish that his council tells the seven kingdoms what happened when House Targaryen’s dragons came; how Drogon and his rider won the battle of King’s Landing without shedding a drop of innocent blood. And then  _ persuade _ him to find all those responsible for the wildfire and if any of them survived, they should be tried publicly.”

“Anything else, Your Grace?”

“Yes. I assume your sister didn’t live?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“I’m sorry, Lord Tyrion. I’m no stranger to the loss of a sibling, I can understand how you must feel. Despite the years of abuse and chastisement at their hand, they are still our blood. You must write to your brother. He has the right to know from you.”

“Do you remember anything from the day you were injured? You wanted to say something.”

*~*~*

_ She staggers through the hallowed halls of the castle, unaware of the questions and the concerns showered her way. The memory of how she came here is already fading, she can’t feel the soot, the sweat and the blood clinging to her body and her arm is hurting. _

_ “How did this happen, your grace?” Missandei asks for the hundredth time as the Maester sews the wound in her left arm. “Who did this?” _

_ “I flew close to the melting walls, a bit closer and I could rescue a child from the street, mayhaps, a woman by the cart too, their faces were ashy but they could move. There were more - infants in the arms of children... I thought I could save them... And then, an arrow came flying towards me... he was a soldier… blood oozed from his scalp and his legs were broken under the weight of the wall but he drew another arrow and aimed at me. I could crush him under Drogon’s feet or burn his flesh to oblivion before he could ever harm me but another great fire roared taking everyone with it … Cersei burnt the city with wildfire and I burnt it with Drogon’s.” she weeps inconsolably. _

_ “You should have killed him.” Tyrion snarls. _

_ “He was in pain but he wasn’t dead.. it was worse. He just wanted it to end; killing him would have been mercy and couldn’t give him that too... I did that to him, to everyone.” _

_ “It was not your fault.” Missandei tries to comfort her again and again. “You walked into Cersei’s trap, didn’t care for your own life and still tried to save the innocents. There was nothing more to be done there, Your Grace” _

_ The faces of innocents would not leave her mind. They died as they had lived - in fear, begging the cruel gods for mercy and a chance for them to survive, while those in power played the game of thrones. _

_ Pain comes pouring out of her like the red blood that her ancestors had always promised. The pain of losing a mother she has never met, a father whose shadow darkened her life, a brother she has only seen through sorcery, another brother who sold her, a khal who bought her, a child who she did not see. Like rot, the losses have set in the gaping wound inside her heart. _

_ “No! Don’t hurt her!” she almost pleads with tears flowing down her cheeks and pushes away the potion that the maester offers. She is all I have of Jon. _

_ Tyrion whispers something in the maester’s ear and he promptly takes his leave.  _

_ “I assure you, this will not cause any harm to the babe, only help you sleep.” Tyrion brings the cup to her. _

_ Dany swallows the bitter potion and curls into the bed. _

_ Upon closing her eyes she sees the snow of the North, the banks of the Trident, a drowned fleet outside the Dragonlords’ castle.. she sees the children nailed to the mileposts, the Queen of Thorns, the Vipers of Dorne, the old knight and a disgraced one, her fiery son plunging to a dark abyss, rows upon rows of flaming arakhs doused in Death, and at last, a lonely, frightened girl riding her Silver into cold eternity. As far as thoughts can go, there’s nothing but a vast ruin.  _

_ She sees Jon - comely and brave and honorable… Jon climbing the steps of Dragonstone, Jon standing tall in the face of Drogon’s charge, Jon bidding farewell at these shores and never turning around to look at her, the sinking of her heart upon seeing Jon drown in the lake of ice, tears of joy she shed when Jon returned to her from the dead, the lurching of her heart upon finding him at the door of her cabin, Jon’s grey eyes and his calloused hands, the surety of his weight anchoring her to life, his love, his seed, his duty, his broken promises, his babe…  _

_ Her heart drowns in agony. “Take me home..” she hiccups as light begins to fade.  _

_ “You’re home, Your Grace. You’re safe and you’re home.” _

_ “Tyrion,” This is not my home... I have no home, home was Jon’s smile. She wants to say but her strength betrays her and everything flees - the pain and the last of life’s cadence as well...  _

*~*~*

  
  


“No, I was distraught. I can’t seem to recall anything.” She says, swallowing the ache that has made a home in her heart. “The streets of Dragonstone are brimming with people. We have to reach out to them and the others across our kingdom. The wars are over and now we rebuild.” She pushes aside the pain of memories and imagines a world free of ruin and despair.

“Tell me Lord Tyrion, what do you know of Jaehaeyrs’ rule and Aegon the fifth’s reforms, and also, the numerous mistakes my ancestors made. Tell me everything you know about the lands we are to rebuild, of the great Houses and what you think their lords might seek from us, about the ways of the Ironborn and their rules of succession.”

“You don’t need to worry about succession anymore. The gender of the child you carry does not matter. You can only change that one rule of primogeniture - a daughter has as much right as a son!”

“My child, when he or she comes, their gender shall not matter. But I need to know all of this. I never received a formal education and the tomes only teach you so much.”

“In that case, how about we begin with the Night’s Watch? They had some interesting laws and methods as well.”

“Those, I remember.”

  
  


*~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're done with the South. For real this time. This chapter needed to be told first because I wanted the readers to have clarity when they read Jon's chapter.
> 
> I want to thank everyone for reading this story, for their kudos, for all the encouraging words and critical feedback as well. I have been behind in responding to your beautiful comments and will get to it asa I can! 
> 
> Anyone willing to write a better, more fleshed-out fic around the ideas that are presented here is more than welcome to do it and please do lemme know where to find your work and enjoy it.


	6. The Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon faces a dilemna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, iia. This story would have been impossible without your constant support (and rewrites).
> 
> Here's a 8k+ words monstrosity. I tried to wind up 90% of the northern plot with this.
> 
> In this chapter -  
__
> 
> _Jon and Sansa continue their conversation in the Hall_
> 
> _Jon and Sam (Jon trudges along, trying to fix whatever he can before he can make up his mind. Sam receives a raven from the South)_
> 
> _Jon and Sansa (Sansa confronts Jon again after the burning of King’s Landing. Jon continues to remain torn between his duty and what he truly wants.)_
> 
> _Jon and Bran (Jon goes to say goodbye)_
> 
> _Jon and Tormund (Jon spends the night in the freefolk settlement)_
> 
> _Sansa and Brienne (Brienne and Jaime make a decision)_
> 
> _Sansa and Arya_
> 
> _A Dream of Spring_
> 
> _Jon has a question for Bran_  


I've a map of how Westeros looks at the moment. How Dany and fAegon arrived at it, let's just say there were extensive negotiations and we wouldn't get into the details. [**Map of Westeros**](https://drive.google.com/file/d/12RAAJkInyj8hLPbKfrZHbqM_ROJKJRR5/view?usp=sharing)

**Last chapter…**

_ “I could have if you had made any allies and hadn’t turned the six kingdoms against us! Maybe you can ask Eyrie to part with some of their grain because I’m not sure how Lady Catelyn’s nephew would feel about sending food to Ned Stark’s bastard!” _

_ “Maybe I will! But not for them, these are not our people.” _

_ “You’ve spent too much time in the south, Sansa. That naïve girl that went south died with Lady, only her pelt returned. I don’t know who you are anymore, Lady Lannister. I will not undermine your tribulations but you will come to regret your arrogance some day and find yourself alone in the darkness of your own making.” Jon voices calmly upon realizing they had been screaming at each other but neither truly listening. _

_ Tormund bursts into the room, his red eyes brimming with shame and unshed tears, “We are not the monsters you people make us to be but we’re not craven either, mi’lady. And we have more self-respect than ye bloody Southerners. I will collect my people and we begin our march North.” _

_ “Tormund, wait, Jon calls after him. No one has gone beyond the wall in moons. You don’t know what dangers lurk there. Where will you go?” _

_ “Don’t know yet but anywhere else will be better than this.” Tormund spits. “Are ya done playing the highlord’s bastard or ya stayin’?” _

_ A hot rush of fear and sweat flashes across Sansa’s neck. “Jon can’t leave! Our independence, our freedom to make our own mistakes and the fate of our House, everything rests upon his assent to remain our King!” _

* * *

**Contd…**

**The Gift**

“You cannot allow yourself to be manipulated by a wildling! You can’t leave Winterfell, this is your home, and after centuries we are truly a free kingdom! We have fought tooth and nail for its independence and after we have defeated the dead, the South will expect us to hand over the reins to them if you give up your claim.” 

_ Your queen has made sure only the Dragons’ blood will rise from the ashes of Westeros. _

Jon scoffs. “Truth be told, it was not you or the Northern armies that defeated the dead but I believe we’re past that point, isn’t it? As for freedom, the only one who has it here is you.”

“How many times do I have to remind you, it was Arya who defeated the Night King. No armies could have held back the undead if their King had remained alive or Gods forbid if he had killed our brother, Brandon!” Sansa seethes and reminds Jon, not for the first time.

“We had _ two _ brothers alive and you don’t have to remind **me** of all people what it took to save them. Oh, but oh, we couldn’t save Rickon!” Jon sneers, “I placed my trust in _ you _ of all people, and you lectured me to forget Rickon but didn’t think it was worth mentioning an army was riding to _your_ aid.”

His hatred is all-consuming. Sansa knows it and she will let it fester, till he rots from inside and little but a husk of Jon remains. And then, then there will be no one left standing in her way. Sansa will have become stronger, she will have gained her own swords. 

“Do you plan to abandon our home?” Sansa rolls onto his heels and grabs Jon’s wrist in fury.

His anger and displeasure reach a point of baleful madness and the ugly beast that’s simmering just beneath his skin is eager to unleash hellfire upon everyone in its path.

“I did not abandon you or our home. You all forced me to choose and I chose the North. But that wasn’t enough for you and look at me now!” Jon laments. There’s an anger-filled quake in his voice. “I failed the only woman who loved me for what I was and not for what I could do for her. I failed myself, I failed what she and I could have been, and now, these people you call monsters are my last hope at redemption.” Jon snaps and storms out of the Hall.

*~*~*

“My Lady, you summoned me?”

“Yes, my lord Samwell. You must be aware that much has been going on at Winterfell and if Jon abdicates the kingship, Daenerys will surely discontinue all aid to us. The circumstances demand that I be more frugal with the resources we have. I am afraid I’ve no coin to spare for two maesters, but many other Northern castles are in need of maesters. I have asked Lady Alys Thenn to give you shelter. That way your lady wife will be able to raise her son with her own kind.”

“Her own kind, my lady? She’s a woman; same as you or my own lady mother.”

“Oh, don’t misconstrue my words, lord Tarly,” Sansa had spoken gently, “I mean well for her and perhaps I misspoke. But surely you will agree that the Thenns are more her own people than us, just as the Starks and Tullys are more my own than some Targaryens or Norreys.”

“The wildlings too live in clans, each very different from the other. Be as it may, she’s my wife and you said Winterfell was our home too.” Samwell sniffles, unable to think of a life under the volatile Thenns. “And you don’t have to pay me anything, my lady. I will be grateful if you simply allow me and my family to live under your protection.”

“Lord Tarly, it’s a shame that Jon seems to be displeased with the continued presence of the lords in Winterfell. I supposed you yourself would have wanted to be away especially given how he holds you responsible for telling me about his parentage. If the truth of the missing letters ever comes out, I will not be able to protect you from his ire. Jon will surely behead you and banish your family to the Wall. Certainly not a fate I would wish upon my friends.” Sansa had then picked up a quill and returned to her scrolls. Sam waited briefly but quickly realized he was no longer welcome as Sansa feigned writing a letter to one of her bannermen.

*~*~*

  
  


_ The oathbreaker, Samwell Tarly, you are summoned to the Reach to pledge allegiance to the Warden of the South, High Marshal of Reach, the Lord of Brightwater Keep and Highgarden, Ser Garlan Tyrell. Failing to do so, all members of House Tarly would be declared as traitors to the crown and executed in accordance with the laws of the Seven Kingdoms. _

_ ~ Hand of the King, Ser Gerold Dayne _

Jon reads the scroll in satisfied amusement. But the expression he wears is unreadably still. 

“Jon, please. They will send me back to the citadel. Or worse, execute me for desertion. I can’t leave Gilly and I can’t leave my mother and sister to fend for themselves. If my lord father had lived mayhaps they would not be in such peril.”

“Did your mother refuse to surrender Hornhill or bend the knee to the new king?”

“No. Not at all. She opened the castle gates and was taken hostage along with my sister. Their lands were given to Lord Garlan, only the castle remains with my family.”

“I don’t see how your father could’ve done anything different or how his death affects your families fortunes. He would have been tried as a traitor too for aligning himself with the Lannister queen and betraying his liege. However, it appears it is **you** they want and it’s moot whether your father lived or died. Likely the word of a certain Septon’s diary and the man who holds it has reached your King’s ears. It’s indeed a difficult situation, Tarly. But how do you suppose I can help you?”

Samwell flinches at Jon’s callousness but he has no one else whom he can plead his case.

“You can seek clemency for my family. I don’t want Hornhill or its attached lands that once belonged to my father. But if I don’t go they will execute my mother and sister and declare a ransom over my head. These are bleak days Jon, people are willing to kill for less.”

Jon scratches his unkempt beard as he leans in the chair. “So what do you propose I do? Hornhill is part of the Southern Kingdoms. Am I to believe that you’re petitioning me as the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, Tarly?”

“Yes, yes, of course, you are a worthy claimant! However, Aegon is older and has the first right to it. But perhaps you can persuade him… as his kin, as the King of the largest kingdom in Westeros.” 

“Ah, invoke the bonds of kinship! I almost forgot I had a family.” Jon sighs looking at the pathetic excuse of a man whom he had once trusted like a brother. “I doubt he will listen to reason especially when it’s coming from a potential threat to his rule which, thanks to you in no small measure, is a _ secret _ he’s privy to.” 

“He could be different. He’s only half a dragon and more your father’s son, not the Mad King’s. He even agreed to give the North its independence, didn’t he?”

“Is this supposed to flatter me in some way? You forget that we’re all the same, my _ Lord _ . Madness flows in our veins, why else would there be three kingdoms instead of one united behind the most formidable of us three. The North is independent, aye, but so are the two Southern Kingdoms, and that is where Hornhill is located. So you are asking _ me _ to interfere in the affairs of another kingdom for you. You would have better luck pleading your case yourself. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to remind the new king and queen of my _ existence _ when you see them but you can try!” Jon then laughs in mockery and drops the scroll on the desk.

_ You deserve every bit of suffering! _ Samwell wants to scream but finds himself too craven to voice his bitterness. “Jon!” Samwell breaks into tears. “I beg you! For old times’ sake, for a Brother who has always had your back, for a _ friend _.”

“Some friend and _ brother _ you proved yourself. My disappointment with you aside, you know what I speak is accurate. The southern King will not entertain any demands from me. If anything, my interference will only prove detrimental to your well-being because, in his eyes, you’re aligned with the North, with _ me _.” Jon adds repugnantly. 

“And don’t think for one second this independence came from the benevolence of his heart. I can’t imagine what threats Dany would’ve given for the North to remain independent at all. Perhaps, she just wanted to punish me for choosing you thankless lot!”

“Jon, please…”

“It’s _ Your Grace _ to you, Tarly. You may leave now and close the door behind you.”

*~*~*

“She burnt them! Innocents, children and pregnant women, the helpless people living in flea-bottom! And you still defend her!”

Without halting or even slowing his frantic efforts of gathering and packing his belongings, and without looking at Sansa for even a fraction of a heartbeat, Jon nonchalantly offers. “If you say so. Who am I to argue with Lady Lannister?”

“We know she propped another silver-haired snake and made him the King, because who else would accept her after she burnt the city and thousands upon thousands of innocents who lived in it. And we know he too will be a pawn in her games. One day they both will come for the North and for you. When that time comes, I will not have anyone accuse Sansa Stark of getting caught unprepared when the snakes and dragons come for her home!” Sansa says, hurtful in her jibes.

“That _ silver-haired snake _ is my half-brother, just as Robb was once.” Jon bites out. “A brother whose mother was raped and killed by your beloved Lannisters, whose sister was dragged from under her father’s bed and slain by Tywin Lannister’s dog. And what should really matter most of all to you is, he’s the king who agreed to grant your independence. You might want to be careful how you speak of him because the walls of Winterfell are thin and no act of treachery goes unpaid.” He laughs bitterly. _ Does she really think she can hurt him with her words? _ Jon pays her less heed than he’ll pay a fly that was buzzing in his ear. He silences her when she opens her mouth again to spew more venom. “Save your breath, your words don’t hurt me. You don’t know me, and you certainly don’t know a thing about Dany. She will never be the monster you want her to be no matter how hard you tried. The mad queen who burns innocents, that's not her. She could never do that, she would trade her own life for that of the defenseless.” 

“Gods are my witness, my only regret in life is, I should never have gone to Dragonstone and destroyed her life!”

“You have a _ duty _ to the North! To us!”

“I’ve nothing more to offer the North or this grey _ prison _ or anyone who lives in it.”

“You may not have anything to offer but your title does. Lend me your support. You used to say you didn’t want it, Bran doesn’t want it either, Arya might run off too someday, but I want… I care_ . _And I know I can make our people love me!” she continues to insist.

Jon jerks his head to a side, sneer gracing his comely but dangerous features. He chuckles scornfully, “I am sure you’ve learned a great deal about ruling from the scum of Westeros, but I don’t need a regent or you for my Hand. And I will certainly not support your claim!”

“Lord Baelish was many things but he was the only one who saved me from the vipers in the King’s Landing. While you were busy gaining power and rising in stature, and Arya was learning to dance with a sword, he was all I had!” Sansa protests. “And it’s not about me, it’s about the North and father’s legacy!”

“Sansa, you’re not fooling anyone. I can’t remember a time when you cared for anyone but yourself. And we’ve all been through a lot. The _ bastard _ who was left to freeze at the Wall was murdered by his own men. He was dead to you since the day you were born but there wasn’t another soul either who would have mourned him. Forget the crypts, I can’t think if anyone might have remembered to bring my bones to the bloody lichyard! And a girl much younger than you wandered the war-ravaged kingdoms with the worse that Westeros had to offer and later, through the streets of Bravos in search for something to hold on to but go on, tell me how you were the only one who suffered!” 

Sansa stares at him in disbelief, with her chin raised and ice-cold demeanor that oft reminds Jon of the late Lady of Winterfell. “Very well. Whether or not you remain the King in the North, what about your children? Will they have a claim to Winterfell and to the North?” Sansa is luring Jon into a debate he no longer wishes to have for he knows that will never be a threat to the Starks, that he shall never father any children. But his patience is wearing thin and after spending a lifetime under her mother’s similarly scornful gaze, he has had enough.

“Aye, they will have a claim. I couldn’t stop you from scheming behind my back, you tattled our family secrets to Tyrion, did everything in your power to destroy the woman who saved your home. In a world where trust means nothing, and words are wind, I suppose I would not be able to stop my children from anything either. Perhaps your lady mother was right, I usurped her children and my children will usurp yours!” 

“You hate _ me _, the trueborn daughter of the man who raised you as his son, with so much vengeance but you readily bent the knee to the mad queen who would burnt thousands upon thousands in her quest for power and you continue to defend her vilest of acts! Why so? Are you still too lost in what was between her legs to think straight? Where will you even go now? Grovel before her to take you back, surrender the North to her once again?”

Jon’s hackles rise in anger. “Get out!” he barks and Lady Brienne steps into the solar, her hand on the hilt of Oathkeeper and her eyes downcast and ridden with shame.

Sansa stands stunned as she watches Jon seethe and Ghost growl ferociously at her.

Dany’s words echo in Jon’s ears - _ People will always see what they want to see and act in their interests. Don’t let them hurt you any more than they already have. _

*~*~*

Jon kneels in front of Bran, searching for the brother of his childhood behind those cold eyes. “Bran, I have to go now. I failed and I cannot do this anymore. I hope you will understand why I can’t be here any longer.”

“You will do everything you were supposed to do and you’ll go exactly where you’re supposed to be. You cannot change the past, and if you continue to look back, you will be lost.” Comes the cryptic response and Jon wonders if this was some sort of punishment from the gods that their lives have become so confounded. “And this is a mere hurdle. We fail when we allow our circumstances to get the better of us.”

*~*~*

“Tormund, you should come with me.”

“Where now, Snow?”

Jon passes the skin of ale and leans back, supporting his weight on his palms. He tries his best to not stare at Winterfell, standing like a sore thumb, like a splinter that has buried itself too deep to rid himself of it, like a maggot that’s slowly eating away at his flesh. He scowls and looks away, drawing himself back to his surroundings - the wildling settlement that has become his home in these past few days. He focuses on his work during the day and then drinks himself into oblivion all night until the sun is nigh. “To Dragonstone. Daenerys will take you in and keep you all safe.”

Tormund claps his hand on Jon’s back, “Don’t get me wrong, King Crow, but we don’t belong in the South. We are far too few to fight her wars and too stubborn to learn new ways. We will never fit.”

“There are no more wars to be fought, she has seen to it. And no one in Westeros can ever understand and embrace those who’re different, more than her.”

Scratching his beard, Tormund narrows his eyes as if he were trying to envision his future and that of his people.

“Ya know what happened to the giants?”

“They were slaughtered by the first men till too few of them were left and those who remained, they were driven away to the edges of the earth.” Jon sighs, remembering the plight of the last of the giants.

“Me thinks some of them still live but they lived with small men for far too long and became like them. And only those who refused to become small, were hunted down like animals. There is no place for us in your world; if we don’t follow your rules, we will die, if we live by your rules, we become you and we still die.” Tormund says chugging the skin of ale and shaking his head in despair.

“And how is that a bad thing? Becoming more like us isn’t a death sentence; it means to adapt, survive, and find a better life for your people.”

“A better life? Har! Are you your own jester now, King Crow?”

Taking a deep whiff of the fermented drink, he complains. “Even your drinks smell and taste like piss!” He then wipes the liquid off his wild beard, “Do you like being you? Gagged to speak your heart, bound to bloody titles and oaths that you did not wish to take, canna go where you want, canna fuck who you want, canna steal a woman you love or fuck her wild and tell her you want to put a babe inside her…”

Jon warns through his red-rimmed eyes, “Tormund, not _ her _...”

“It’s not about her, it’s the life you were given when you joined the Crows. It’s the life you’ve always lived. Saving this wretched world wasna enough that you now have to please the sentiments of some dead man only because he didn’t leave you to die somewhere far off? Only in your world will a man’s name bear more weight than his deeds. And you all condemn your children to the same life the day they are born and on and on it goes with no one to question the ways of your world, no one to ask why the preening lords live in stone castles with fires burning in their hearths while they suffer the bone-breaking cold. Look at them -” Tormund points in the direction of wildling children playing in the snow and women watching over them, “you canna tell who’s the real mother, canna tell if she’s dead or alive, canna tell if she died, did she die saving her own child or another’s. Snow, we’re not the most peaceful of people, we canna use ink and quill, our clothes stink but we’re free, we’re brave and most of all, we are a village. We take care of each other and if there’s ever a worthy man, we follow him. Har, we might even call him king and bend the bloody knee if he asked. But something tells me, you won’t do that.”

“Be your king now?” Jon throws his head to the side and snorts.

“No, ask us to become kneelers. You’re one of us. Your name is Snow! That’s the true North; not Stark or Targaryen or Umber or Mormont. The North is this –“ he throws his hands around “and the North lives in you.”

“Tormund, I’ve to go. You said you want to be free.. I want to be free too.”

“Well then, it has been a good ride, my King.” Tormund looks at Jon and leaves him to his thoughts with a curt bow of his head.

Jon feels hazy and confused. He craves leaving the toxicity of what was once his family behind and at the same time, he isn’t sure what fucked up plans Lady Catelyn’s daughter was capable of now that the North will be under her thumb. He drinks his ale late into the light and stares at Ghost. “You’re not made for the South,” he tells him and bursts into a hapless sort of laughter. “You’ll sweat like a pig. I know I did when I went there. And this is your home, isn’t it? You can stay, protect the wildlings and they will protect you. I’ll come to see you.. sometime…. when...” With a smile that reaches nowhere, Jon scratches Ghost behind his maimed ear. “I don’t know where the fuck I’ll go, or what I’ll do. It is too late for me, I suppose. I might see her from a distance, make sure she’s safe. I’d hate the fucker who might be with her even though I have no right to it.” Jon tightens his hold around Ghost’s mane and leans on him. “I have nothing here. Only false love, poisonous words and a viper’s nest.”

Ghost growls in what Jon perceives as sadness, rubs his head against Jon, toppling him over, and then he sprints into the woods.

Jon drifts into a fitful sleep in the same spot he has been sitting all day in the wildling camp and when he wakes up, he realizes that the tents were being uprooted and folded along with the meager belongings the freefolk had brought South with them. He feels like shit on the inside. These people would have given up their lives at his command and he could not even shield them from those who ought to have listened to him.

He walks in long, purposeful strides upon seeing a large number of people bringing their carriages, loading the tents. They are dressed differently from the freefolk and Jon can immediately guess they are the Northerners. “Your Grace..” they bow. _ I’m no fucking grace, _ he wants to yell, instead, he ignores their show of _ respect _ and asks harshly, “What are you doing with the freefolk’s belongings?”

“Helping them, your grace, and we’re coming with them.” They say. “We’re told you’ll no longer remain here but we swore an oath to you, from this day until the end of our days.” Upon observing them closely, Jon realizes some of them were Bear islanders and wore Mormont sigil on their chest. Still others wore the Karstark sun on their chest and few looked like late lord Umber’s men. Others were simple, common folk, women and young children mostly.

“It might not be safe where these people are headed.” Jon admits shamefully, frustration oozing through his tongue. “You should be returning to your own homes.”

“We’ve lost too much, Your Grace.” An old woman steps forward. “And the North Remembers. We followed our liege lords to Winterfell for safety and we know that the wildlings helped you to take back the castle from the Boltons. These people, they’re one of us now.” She pulls the little boy clutching her skirt closer to her. “This boy’s mother died saving my grandchild. They say he canna live here so I’ll go where his people will go.”

Jon summons the woman, “What is your name, my lady?”

*~*~*

Jon decides he will do what_ she _had wanted. He will rule and he will do what_ she _always dreamed - break the wheel. It is his penance and his last and only gift to the woman he loves.

*~*~*

Jon isn’t the same person anymore, none of them are, but there’s a renewed sense of ruthlessness and dark melancholy to him that she has not witnessed before. She had been smart in sending away Tarly. But _ what if Jon still finds out about the scrolls that never found their way to him? _

Sansa stares into the fire in the hearth and shakes off her fears; Samwell Tarly has gone and she cannot dwell upon it any longer because it does not matter - she did it for her home, for everyone’s safety and besides, Jon won’t ever hurt her, his honor won’t allow it. 

Sansa fidgets with the scroll in her hand. It has arrived from the Riverlands. Her uncle has proposed a match between her and the southern king’s Hand. _ This looks promising. _ Cersei had been right. There’s another weapon a woman can wield. Daenerys Targaryen has wielded it so efficiently. Why can’t she? 

_ I can build a dynasty that shall last a thousand years and make sure that future generations continue to remain faithful to my descendants! _

“Lady Sansa” Brienne interrupts her thoughts.

“Yes, Ser Brienne.”

“You once commanded me away from Winterfell, my lady, and if rumors are to be believed, a trial was held against Lady Arya which soon turned into a trial against Lord Baelish. I do not understand what happened there but I know it in my heart that I almost failed in protecting Ned Stark’s daughter. Your brother has kept you safe, never once ill-treated you. But I’ve stood by and watched for too long how you have betrayed him on more than once occasion. You did not tell him when you met Baelish at Mole’s Town, you kept from him that you had sought help from the Knights of Vale, and now, when you know the truth of what happened at King’s landing, you continue to spread misgivings about Queen Daenerys.”

“_ Queen _ Daenerys is it now, ser Brienne? Were you there when she burnt King’s Landing?”

“No, but both you and I know that she didn’t do it. Even if the ravens from King’s Landing were feigned, Lord Tyrion will not lie to his own brother.”

“Lord Tyrion knew that Cersei was never going to commit her men to protect the North and yet, he lied to protect her and his own standing in Daenerys’ council. How can this be any different? His new queen is as vile and vicious as his own sister and who knows what she does to captivate men and enslave them to her will.”

Brienne rolls her head in disgust and protests. “You can’t believe that! You’re a woman! You’ve seen how she stood by her people, how she put her own war of conquest aside for aiding the North, poured her treasury into _ your _war-chest, and still continues to send food. Her armies, dragons, riches, kingdoms, Queen Daenerys was not born into any of it. She has _ earned _ everything she has and she deserves better from us women if not these wretched men.”

“Ser Brienne! Watch your words! You trust the vile Lannisters and a Targaryen over your own Lady?”

“Lady Sansa, you mistake me. I do not condemn you for being ambitious, but I cannot stand by and condone your treachery either. Ser Jaime _ Lannister _ kept his oath, asked me to find you and bring you safely to Winterfell. My oath has been fulfilled. I wish to return to Tarth - to my lord father, and Ser Jaime and the surviving Lannister soldiers will leave too. Lord Tyrion has offered him the seat of Casterly Rock. I wish you good fortune in life, my lady.”

“I haven’t released you from your oath!”

“I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table, and pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you into _ dishonor _. I swear it by the old gods and the new."

“What?”

“Those were your words, my lady. You ask me to guard your back while you lie and cheat your own family. I can’t bear it. If I cannot protect them from you, I will not abide by the dishonor you bring me by becoming a silent accomplice in your deceits. Farwell, Lady Stark.”

“_Ice _ belongs to the Starks.” Sansa stares coldly at the sword at Brienne’s hip.

Brienne caresses the gold lion pommel like a lover. “By the laws of conquest, Oathkeeper and Widow’s Wail belong to Ser Jaime of House Lannister. And from where I stand, there isn’t much difference between the two Houses.”

“I suppose, we will be given safe passage through the North?” Brienne bows curtly and a stunned Sansa Stark watches her till the knight becomes a spec in a distance.

*~*~*

“Well, congratulations! You succeeded where everyone failed. We’re making Lannisters look like Septons now!”

“Why are you here?”

“I was listening.”

“The North is slipping out of our hands and you’re dancing with the blade and spying on your own sister. Can’t you see, the Starks have lost everything!”

“The only thing the Starks have lost, thanks to you, is their honor. I’m ashamed of you but I’m more ashamed of myself. Come now, our king has sent summons.” With that the only sister Sansa Stark ever had, turns her back on her.

_Life has a way of turning victories to ashes_ Sansa muses, but that won’t happen with her; she’s smarter than father and Robb, and certainly smarter than her cousin Jon Snow! _Sansa Stark won’t fail._ _I’m Ned Stark’s trueborn daughter, Bran will support my claim,_ _the North will stand behind me._ _I will make everyone love me_. 

*~*~*

“Do you mean to take the Stark name, Your Grace?” Barbrey Dustin disguises her intentions with measured courtesies.

“No, my lady. Will that be a problem?” The King answers, continuing to walk purposefully towards the Great Hall.

“Why? Of course not.” 

She smiles as they fall out of step and the king nods and walks away from her. _ I’ve not been fond of that name in a long time. _

By the time she reaches the Hall, the Lords continue to pour in as the King in the North takes his seat on the sole chair on the high table. _Our King! Ned Stark’s bastard,_ she thinks mirthfully, _sitting under the pall of wolves while the eldest of Ned’s true wife’s body stands sulking near the wall._ She blamed the Starks for many things, not excluding the death of her lord husband and being denied the chance to bury his bones at his ancestral seat. But the King, a veteran of many wars at his young age, a wolf and a dragon rider, he appeared _different_. Ned’s only trueborn son left alive is more trout than wolf and the only wolf his wife had managed to whelp, stands as her bastard brother’s sentry. The bastard proved more wolf than any of the trueborn gets. She cannot help but snort at the thought of Catelyn’s rotting bones rattling in horror and finds that she could not bring herself to hate the White Wolf even though he was sired by _Ned_. 

“What is it, dear aunt? You seem unusually cheerful today!”

“No, just happy to see our beloved King and all of us gathered together, nephew! The North Remembers! The Starks are indeed loved. Aye, they are. I was wondering if the king means to take a wife or his sisters will take husbands.” She says, eyeing the King mysteriously. 

“We’re a free kingdom, aren’t we?” King Jon asks the assembled nobility.

_ Loud cheers! _

“I thought so!” he voices. “Free, upstanding people don’t beg for food and coins. But unfortunately, we have no means to keep our people from starving. So, even though we cannot turn away the aid of another kingdom, we should utilize it more judiciously.”

_ Ayes _ are murmured across the Hall as the initial enthusiasm of their newly snatched freedom wanes.

“I command stopping all rebuilding efforts in Winterfell. The castle is under no threat any longer and Queen Daenerys’ men had restored most parts of it before they marched South. There are more imminent rebuilding needs elsewhere, and Winterfell can now manage on its own. No incomes will be drawn by the royal family for their personal usage until such time that North is on its two feet.”

Lady Dustin cannot take her eyes away from the temper building in the cold Tully eyes of the _ Princess_. It is amusing and Sansa seems as if she will no longer stand by and listen to the diktats of the King. But she does. _ The South has taught her well. _

“All people shall return to their homes, including you lords and ladies. I shall redirect an agreeable portion of the funds to the castles that were destroyed during the Long Night or the wars prior to it. Does anyone object?” The King stares into the eyes of those gathered inside the Hall.

_ No objections are raised. _

“Henceforth, all fortresses and holdfasts will be built and strengthened to protect the smallfolk and not for the highborn to hide behind their walls. Any lord found guilty of not sheltering his people in dire times, will be stripped of title and lands.”

The lords agree to the proposal, albeit hesitantly. The King intends to enforce controls over them and empower the smallfolk at their cost but it is a fair demand and there’s hardly anything they can say to counter it.

Sansa seems hard to read often times but for now, she appears more than offended; like she was slapped in the face. But it’s nothing compared to what her bastard brother has on his mind.

“The North doesn’t need a warden. We’re one kingdom and I propose abolishing wardenship. Instead, we form a council with Houses from different corners of the North and common people from various walks of life.” 

The next words come from an unexpected quarter. Arya Stark. “All those in favour, say aye.”

“Lady Stark, your house has held the seat for centuries.” Barbrey’s stupid nephew outrages.

“Aye, but we were a part of the seven kingdoms then. Not anymore. King Jon is our brother and we stand behind him.”

“All of you, Princess?” Barbrey questions cockily.

“Aye, the Starks will stand behind King Jon Snow.” The boy in the wheelchair responds. “For as long as the dragons have ruled the seven kingdoms, there was a need for Warden. But we are no longer a part of Seven Kingdoms now; the King is of Stark blood and House Stark supports his claim.”

_ The king is bastard born and this castle has always belonged to the trueborn wolves, _Barbrey is inclined to say but stays her tongue when the little wolf-maid stares at her with the grey eyes that remind her of someone who was once dear to her. But there’s another who has apparently heard her thoughts. Another, who may have lost all of her power in one swoop.

“The _ King _ is only half a Stark, he does not even bear the true name. What of the North’s future?”

“So are you, my lady... err, Princess. Maybe less; you were once married to a Lannister which makes you one of them and your mother was a Southerner.” Smiles Lady Dustin.

“Thank you, Arya and Bran.” The King pins the redhead with his glowering stare. “Lady Sansa, very soon your concerns will be addressed. Our next order of business is a _ Dream of Spring _. Lord Ned Stark had wished for settlements along the Gift. I propose we grant the existing, abandoned holdfasts and lands to the free folk and the men who have served the North loyally but have no names to show off their heritage, as our demonstration of gratitude towards them.”

_ Silence. Stunned silence. _

“All those in favour, say _ aye _.” Pronounces the King. As expected, the lords either murmur or outrage. Ah, this has brought a certain smirk on the redhead’s beautiful face, not that the northern fools will see it. Men seldom see the darkness behind a demure beauty, yet they see all sorts of vices in a woman who doesn’t hide behind courtesies and pretences.

The wilderness in the king’s eyes reminds her of her Brandon, not for the first time. He has less of Ned in him, she thinks almost happily dazed. But he is surely more subtle, less of a fool to let his anger get the better of him and find himself consigned to green flames. Her eyes sting at the thought. It would have been her children on the throne of North - as kings or as wardens, doesn’t matter. Brandon needed a true northern wife, not some _ fish _ of the Rivers. It is only right that a bastard sits on it now, one who refuses to take the Stark name.

Lady Alys Karstark steps forward. “Your Grace, my lords and ladies, we all know the North lost so many of our people in the wars over these past few years, rightly or not. We all lost family, many Houses are entirely gone now. We were the ones who took the brunt of the Long Night. But we have to look forward now. The North will have enough land to farm when the spring comes but no farmers, homes to rebuild but no masons, our people need clothes and food but there aren’t enough hands to work. We will need men _ and _ women to raise and protect the future generations of the North. When we go back to our lands we will have a need for every able-bodied man and woman, for the children who will be our future. The old and disabled are welcome too, they shall be cared for as best as we can.” 

“The freefolk are people after all, aren’t they?” she turns her sight on her northern brethren but they refuse to meet her gaze. The girl has lived with a wildling husband and if rumors are to be believed, they’re in _ love _. Lady Dustin scoffs inwardly. 

“I know there has been enmity between us for thousands of years, but the Long Night changed all that. It made allies of bloodsworn enemies and united us all against a foe that did not distinguish between freefolk and Northmen. It was the freefolk who fought to restore Winterfell to the Starks while my own family sided with the Boltons, and many of you, my lords, waited the war out. The King forgave us for our past trespasses, it is our turn to show the same kindness.”

“The journey won’t be easy, life mayhaps even tougher but the freefolk will have a home at Karhold. Karhold cannot support all of them but together we can. What do you say, Lord Ryswell? Lord Manderley?” The girl thinks she can shame the northerners into shunning their centuries-old beliefs. “Lady Sansa? These people fought and died for your home!”

“And we saved them, fed them and sheltered them during the Long Night.” Sansa Stark replies insipidly and looks away.

“Anyone else has anything to say?” the King asks, face set in a cold fury.

He then commands a sentry standing at the doorway behind him. “Bring the woman, Hallys.” 

“This woman, she’s not of the freefolk. She’s one of you!” The King asks the woman clad in northern furs of brown and grey, “Tell them Lyarra, who is this boy?”

“This boy’s a wildlin’ mi’lords. His family first came here when our King took back Winterfell from the Bolton bastard. His father died in that battle, mi’lords. His mother was a warrior, just like him and she survived. What did they call your mother, son?”

“_ Spearwife _, nana.” The boy answers innocently.

“Aye, she was wed to the spear! Brave woman, barely twenty but could fight as good as any northerner could. She fell saving my grandchild and before her eyes could turn blue, she pushed the black dagger his grace had sent to us, in her own heart. And now your soldiers, our _own_ _Northmen_, say he canna live here because he doesnna belong. My blood is of the first men and I am no thankless heathen, yer grace. I’ll go where his people will go and I’m not alone. There are hundreds of us. _The North Remembers._ We never forget a slight and we must never forget who shed their blood for us.”

“Thank you, Lyarra. You may wait outside now.” the King speaks gently to the woman but his eyes are filled with loathing when he trains them on the lords.

Lady Alys gestures to one of the Karstark guards to follow the old woman.

“Your Grace, I will take the woman and child with me and as many of the freefolk I can feed. All those who have the northern blood and remember to pay their debts, say _ aye _.” She shouts then and the Hall resonates.

_ Aye! Aye! Aye! _

“Thank you, my lady.” The King nods.

“Lord Glover! I haven’t seen you since the feast.”

“I am here to apologize, my King.”

“Again?” Jon questions cockily, sending a wave of sniggers across the Hall.

“I was wrong, Your Grace. I have shamed my ancestors, dishonored the blood of First Men by insinuating that you betray the Queen.” the Hall reverberates with the collective sigh of outrage. “My family has returned to their home... by the grace of the Targaryen queen.”

“I am aware.” the King tells solemnly.

“So you mean to swear fealty to her now, my lord?” Snorts the lady of Winterfell.

“No, my lady. She didn’t ask.” he then looks away from the redhead. “I seek your permission to trade timber and stone with the southern kingdom of Queen Daenerys Targaryen and the Iron Islands. I agree with what Lady Alys just said. Most of my own men perished either during the Long Night or, the Ironborn invasions and King Robb’s war. We don’t have enough people to work the lands.”

There’s pride and love in equal measure when Jon hears _ her _ name spoken with such admiration. “You have my leave, Lord Glover. And I would encourage you to take as many willing men, women, and children with you as you can.”

“Lord Manderley, we need your ships for not just the defense of our territories but for trade as well. Lord Bran tells me we have the finest ironwood and hidden mines. Winter will wane and spring shall return. When that happens, we want to be ready to take full advantage. You have the most interaction with the outside world, I name you my master of ships and master of coins as well until such time another lord can assume that title. Within a fortnight, a new council will be formed through consensus and if they see the merits in the proposal sent to us by Lord Tyrion, I propose we send envoys to negotiate.”

“It would be my honor to serve the North, Your Grace.” The fat lord steps forward and it’s comical to watch his squire help him as he takes the knee.

_ What does a king want the most? A queen! One who can bear him strong sons! Our king needs sons and heirs! _

The King shifts in his seat upon hearing those calls, unamused at the lords’ jeering. He raises a hand to silence everyone.

“My lords and ladies, since the Age of Heroes the Night’s Watch, an institution founded on the proud northern traditions, has chosen their leader based on their capabilities. Any Black brother could rise through the ranks and get elevated to the post of Lord Commander. I propose a similar arrangement - that at the end of my rule the council shall choose their new king from one of them. The council will be loyal to the people and the regulations laid down by them ought to be treated as final words of conduct in any dispute. I want you all to come together as one and vow to preserve the laws of the North, abide by them until your dying breaths.”

“Your Grace, for generations the titles have passed from father to son, it’s the old way.”

“And how well has it worked for you all?”

“It gave us centuries of peace.”

“Until it didn’t. Until a Bolton assumed power and even before, there was no peace until every House with ambition had been subdued by the Wolves. I have learned over the time unless everyone is an equal partner in the rise or the fall of their homeland, we will continue to betray each other for our petty gains and sabotage the fate of the entire kingdom. That has to end. That being said, only the kings or queens will be chosen through the council’s vote but no one is taking your homes and lands away from you as long as you do right by the people.” 

“I thank you all for placing your trust in the bastard, for standing with me when the war came. It is time to go back to your homes. Take your people and rations with you and be their protectors, not exploiters. If you are fair in your dealings, treat your people with respect, you and I will never find each other on opposing sides. As to whoever is the first one to violate my trust, I will be sure to make an example of them.” The King intones with the coldness of death. 

After a heartbeat of frozen silence, _ long live King Jon _ echoes through the Hall and Barbrey, with her many years of experience, knows that the king has set the wheels of change in motion. She hopes it is for the better because she is the daughter of once kings and North is her _ home _.

A proud, grey-eyed wolf-maid blearily watches her half-brother disappear down the Hall’s corridors as ale is brought to the Hall and food is served.

*~*~*

  
  


“Is love truly the death of duty?”

“I wouldn’t know, Jon. In the thousand lives I’ve lived, love has escaped me. In my memories, there are lovers; some rejected me and others, I failed. I have sires but there is no love there too. I’m always a means to an end. I suppose it must be a good thing that the gods have taken away all my desires.”

“I’m sorry.” Jon tells whoever is in there and hopes his brother is alive somewhere if only in the memories of the three-eyed-raven. “I never asked you about my father or my mother. But I fail to understand why a bloody war was fought when they loved each other. 

“The rebellion was not about Lyanna and Rhaegar’s _ love _. It was based on a lie; it was about a mad king and one man’s ego.”

“Why did my sires not inform the realm they were married?”

“It wasn’t that simple. The lives of Rhaegar’s children were at stake in King’s Landing. The Mad King’s mistrust for the Dornish is no secret and the Martells have never been the ones to forget a slight. Rhaegar tried to reach out to Lord Stark but the missives never found their way to him and before long, the war was being fought all across Westeros.”

“A missing parchment? Do you mean if a _ fucking raven _ had reached Lord Stark in time, the war could have been avoided?”

“No, the war was inevitable. King Aerys had sown the seeds of rebellion long before the tourney at Harrenhal. If they knew the truth, the Starks would have sided differently. The North would have stood behind your lord father and he may have lived.”

“What about… my father’s first son? Did he truly live?”

“Do you wish to know?” the Raven asks.

“I suppose not.”

“Is there anything else you wish to know?

“A great many things.”

“But you’re afraid of what I might say.” Jon sees what can be called a sad smile on his brother Brandon’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is in sight!
> 
> A huge thank you to my readers.


End file.
